Life Beyond My Own

Now I’m heading home.  The cab smells damp and mouldy.  The rain outside helps to germinate the archeology of putrid spoors resting on the seat cover.  These seats are supporting life beyond my own.  The driver is adventurous, cutting in and out, ignoring the cameras.   We will get home sooner.  And the lively smell is building. 

I had quite a few meetings today.   By the last meeting, in a darkening office with a presentation mid presented, I was on the edge of falling asleep.  I sat there and let other people do the talking and slowly drifted toward the rocks of embarrassment.  I’m in middle school arguing with a teacher.  I’m back.  There is a new slide.  The drift-in, is only really a few seconds, but the pull of the un-retrievable dream is all consuming.  Where was I?

It’s not much better now, riding home in the back of a cab.  I’m tired but not yet sleepy.  Soon I’ll lie down and call it a night.  But for now, I’ve managed, somehow to stay awake.  Perhaps it is this smell has me unwittingly alert. 

Later, at home I read further into “Crime and Punishment” with my older daughter.  Roskolnikov’s friends are starting to get suspicious.   One of them made the mistake of saying something untoward about our anti-hero’s mother.   Hi waxing insanity is forever plausible, immediate.