Just a few minute post before the grind of the week begins to grind me up. I am a man on a year-long assembly line, standing at my spot, turning screws and tightening bolts accordingly -hoping all the while it is in fact I who am changed. The weekend is over, but the week has not yet started.
My walls and floors are paper thin. Last night I laid awake while my cousin and her boyfriend watched a movie on a laptop across the hall. The neighbors across the narrow ally from my bedroom kept the party rocking until two. This afternoon I read at the kitchen table, my cousin in the room to my left, and my neighbor in the basement to the right, both talking on phones at the same time, both highly audible, while I read of loneliness in characters so deep the room I was in grew by city blocks.
This is all for now, but a manuscript is coming.
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