Contemporaneous: Chapters 73 – 74
73. I don’t sleep well, but it’s not because of typical sleep troubles, but because I’m excited to get the week underway. When did I last feel like this? I can’t remember – not specifically. I was once like this, but that excitement and anticipation congealed into the mire that’s made everything so arduous. No more, though. I begin to catalogue what I need to do. Autumn. She’s the first stop. I want, I need to tell her my news. And not because I’m boasting, but because there’s a purity to her happiness – she’ll genuinely feel good for me, and there’s something about, some validation that I’ve never experienced…
Contemporaneous: Chapter 64
64. I drink and drink, the waitstaff always approaching me with uncertainty, like one of them wants to tell me this isn’t a bar, but they’re all teenagers – they don’t have the courage to approach some foreboding-looking fifty-year-old who’s drinking peacefully (but, given I’m drinking alone, self-destructively), and tell him he has to leave. The cook looks like he might, though – he’s about thirty, but a rotund guy, with a big, meaty, crewcut head that’d might’ve just come out of his wood-fire oven. Give him another decade and his bulk will turn to fat. Right now, though, he’s got this affable look about him – maybe it’s cliché,…
Search