Selby, stones in David's sling. Day One of the rest of whatever comes
next. Whatever comes next. I expect it will have a somewhat familiar
quality. A soft, amoeba 3-d appearance. Death bed scenes.
Biking, 43 degrees, clear, light wind. YWCA, short meditation,
stretching, elliptical. Nina' s, carrot muffin, coffee. Still riding
on the bubble of the fall time change. I am a bit overdressed for
sitting inside. Sign across the room in front of me, advert for the
Wednesday Socrates Club, "why is the meaning of life so important to
our species?" Makes me think "The Secret of the Life of Brian." Dated
10/28/09. Thing, think, thought of the past.
A short while back, in a nearby town, a son, off his meds, shot and
killed his father. The father was my neighbor's brother. Also in the
news: a county sheriff reservist, was hit by a car and killed while
directing traffic. Age 57, Big Mike they called him, son of some folks
who'd lived 50 years in the house across the street from us, until
recently moving out to an apartment. Those folks, husband and wife,
are big people, so as they are noticeable, periodically driving by in
their minivan to look at their old house,
Late on Halloween night, looking out our bedroom window across the
street, towards Big Mike's childhood home, we saw a nonhuman Mohican
standing in the street for a disconcertingly long time, talking into
the open driver's side windows of parked cars and cars that came by
and stopped mid- street.
Just about to move on from coffee shop, and in comes Tony. Chatted
briefly, and went on with our days.
David
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