Tuesday August 20 2013

[i]

☼ ○ ▬

Struggling to park my car in an apartment complex. There are a limited number of visitor's spots and for some reason I have an extra vehicle. I have the muscle power to stack this second car on top of my station wagon. But it won't stay put; it keeps sliding off. Eventually, I make it work. Later, in the apartment, I attempt to trap a special jumping spider into a plastic Tupperware container.

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up at 11:07 a.m.

White Peaches.

All day shift at China Wok. I don't normally work on Tuesdays but Kevin and I switched around the schedule this month.

It's terribly slow, so terribly slow.

I spend some time at the house exercising on the down time.

Five Guys French Fries with Ketchup. Honey Green Tea.

Not a very profitable day and it's getting to me – affecting my sanity.

I leave work with dissatisfaction but at a decent hour.

Leslie scoops me up from the house and we ride together to Scotty Quixx in Norfolk for the Pinball Locomotive show. Chowing down on Broccoli, Carrots, and Rice in Brown Sauce. There, most of our friends are present. The band plays through their lively set of alternative-pop jams. Sipping on $2 Red Stripes. The owner keeps instructing them to turn down the volume after every song. Years ago my old band Tokyo used to play shows here with Foxtrot Rio and Still Pink, many years ago. Reconnecting with an old friend from high school, Mike Joyner – I haven't seen him in ten years. It's kind of a wild reunion. He joined the Navy, got a 7-year-old son, was married for 8 years, and now works at ODU as a security officer.

...

I walk Ana to her car a few blocks down the street. While standing by the car some black man hobbles along very quickly in our direction exclaiming something along the lines of, "God is good," or "All things work out in his will." Of course after we acknowledge him he stops to shake my hand and starts to tell a prepared story about needing a gallon of gas to get back to wherever. Immediately I recognize what he's really doing and I interrupt him, "No man. I'm sorry. We can't help you. We're in the middle of a conversation." He insists he let us listen to his rehearsed sob story. I've seen this before many times, and especially in Norfolk. "I'm sorry, dude."

Man: "Okay-okay."

"But God bless you anyway," I add.

Back home.

Honey Bunches of Oats with Milk.

Sleep 4 a.m.

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[i] Laron & Pinball Locomotive. Image by me.