It’s a quarter to five. I am on my way to catch a ride. You honk at me. Once. Twice. Then squeeze in to the left of me.
I will admit it; the dark colours, shiny paint and moon roof are impressive features. As is the stuck on label on the boot.
A three pointed star. All tinted windows. It must be nice. It’s not king of the road though. It still has to queue at the junction behind all the other cars.
I will walk on.
…for several days I have leapt into wakefulness. On stuffily hot days and bitingly cold days.
In my dreams, my eyes blink awake. My days are perfect. The days float by. Each time, I return to the waking world.
I jogged across two lanes today. I did it to beat the red light. I was a touch of breath and my sides hurt. I kept pinching them. I walked up the short incline and crossed the road.
As I strolled down the lane, I saw two boys playing basketball. Basketball without a hoop. Neither of them was very good. I imagined faking them out of their shoes. I settled for the layup in the day dream.
…like the mixtape. I sense it now more than I sensed it before. The weeks are fewer. Though they are still an even number. I hope their passing does not seem odd.
I can’t complain too loudly. I do not miss the more recent weather. A little heat is fine. Cold drinks help a little. They do not help with the time.
Where do the hours go? Is it already day’s end?
…I have only seen two Camaros. I can’t seem to remember the colour of the first. The second is white. The first roared up a road I was walking on and sped past me. The second lazed in the afternoon sun.
…I have seen a bunch of Porsches. The latest was a grey Panamera. It was stuck in traffic. I was watching it while waiting in the back of an eighteen seater with six passengers.
…I can’t remember how many souped up Subaru’s I have seen. The latest was parked by the side of the road. Its passengers were using the greenery as conveniences. They must have taken another exit because I didn’t see it again. I was too busy watching the hills roll by from the last row of a fourteen seater.
…of the day I will wake up before birds chirping and day dawning to work beneath an awning and nap after yawning.
…of brightly lit stages. On with some of the sages. Crowds in stitches. Scribbling like they were scratching itches. Claps to minutes long standing ovations.
…of trying to remember what it was like to weigh dollars and cents. When influence is priceless. When keeping it makes more than just sense. And opportunities stay with me: on my side of the fence v
DAY ONE: I was tip toeing past a car that was parked next to the drain when I saw them. They did not look worn. The heels were not broken. There were no creases. They must have fallen.
DAY TWO: I didn’t expect to see them again. I was walking past and stopped at the spot. There they were. In the drainage channel. Heel to toe like their owner had worn them and sat cross legged. A black strip had peeled off the left shoe heel.
DAY THREE: Before I reached the spot, I saw the right foot shoe. At the spot, I could see the stone work. I didn’t see the left shoe. Were they washed away by the run off of the morning rain?
It took a minute after the alarm. I was alert as I felt the pane vibrate and watched the roadside watch me fly by. I expected the afternoon dip and tried to fight it off. I sat to watch a video after supper and slept for an hour.
Hours later, I am still awake…
I should have known. The pacing. Arms across chest. Far away look. Scanning the cars as well as the comings and goings.
Leaning against the passenger door. The tale began. Something about someone you knew. That someone asked you for a pick up. No when. No where. No what. You did what you shouldn’t have. You think I look like an honest person. You are done waiting. You just need to get home. You will reimburse me. You offer me a power bank. No mention of the car. The car keys are gone.
There is no need to make this any more awkward than it is. Not to put too fine a point on it, I have heard likelier stories. Enough to get you on your way and the benefit of the doubt. If I am wrong, I will chalk it up to weak cynicism. No name and the number mispronounced. My bad. You’re no where to be seen.
I had my mind set. I was in like Flynn. All I had to do was get started. That proved to be the harder thing.
You see, I had scoped all possible outcomes and decided they were acceptable. I had imagined how it would all play out. Plus I had the time—and the permission.
When it was done, my mind didn’t ask to stop. My mind didn’t draw the shutters and turn on the music. My mind shut down. At least, one thing was done.