And today was my second to last waffle Tuesday. Two weeks left is creeping in, seeping in, sinking in with heavy gravitational weight. So sudden I desperately want to see all my people and do everything I can before I go. Weekends are already booked and pushed and crammed into every free second I have. Weekdays I’m still charting, mapping, leaving open to the wind and getting an idea of best course to sail. I am resisting the expensive urge to go out each and every night I have left.
“I just had to walk from here to 2nd street market because I locked my keys in my car!” I tell them. Smiling and nodding, I have everyone’s attention. “I deserve this!” I declare raising the mocha up over my head. The manager agrees with me “Yes you do!”
I start up the stairs with a sweet sip of triumphant delicious late. I turn around half way.
“And I had a coupon!” I shout like an Olympic gold-medalist. My audience claps and cheers as the library seems to stand still in awe of my achievements.
Sunday I wake up around noon with the sun high in the sky. It beckons me to wake up and fulfill the days missions. “What missions?” I grumble between rubbing my eyes and searching for coffee. Our fridge is more like a mysterious cave than usual. I have to search two different shelves and even relocate a water jug. Oh iced coffee, my precious precious friend. (They buy groceries on Saturday, me having not been home much on Saturday the last I’d seen of the fridge it was a barren desolate thing.)
“Gonzo journalism!” I exclaim. Badtz nods her head vigorously in agreement. Her thick dark bangs bop up and down over her forehead. “We’ll start a new wave of the genera!” We sit in a room about eight feet long and six feet wide. This might seriously be a storage closet. “I’m going to start introducing you as my lawyer.”
Second to Fifth I park in the shadow of the witches tower. The gray chunk of abandoned manufacturing facility stands…