-Theodore Roosevelt

Set out sad tonight, telling myself what’s-the-use-of-having-my-dog-here-if-i-don’t-take-her-for-a-walk, heading toward that trail I’d heard of in the somewhat cold. The trail was dark and lonely, prime rapist territory, so I headed toward downtown. I chose a back alley, the one Chad used to park on for work, passing the backs of shops I’d never noticed before, smelling trash and sewage and cooking food. There was a sign that said “House for Rent,” which I thought peculiar, so I headed back between the buildings and found a cluster of cottages, yellow under the lamps and hung with tiny white lights. I could hear the people in those little houses so clearly, happy and talking and laughing. Back in the alley I came up behind three late twenties men, well-dressed and engaged in some conversation who grew awkwardly silent as I passed. Parking lot, street. People dressed nice for a night on the town. A woman made friends with Jessi, then we walked on. Crossed the street and peered up the stairs of Jesse’s apartment, dark. Around to the photography gallery, dark. A bar was playing Nirvana, so I climbed some stairs where a sign said “Studio [something or another]” and found cute apartments w/roof patios, a long green path between two box buildings, two more cute apartments. Nirvana wasn’t playing anymore and I left, crossing the lot to avoid all the stupid bar people. Down toward the railroad tracks loud music was playing, and I headed toward it, eyeing with interest stands of kids white-faced and black-clad. My red Abercrombie sweats and I headed right through the middle of it to the place from whence the noise sprang. A few kids seemed interested in the music, but I wasn’t and headed along the tracks to find myself facing a four-foot wall. A boy told me that there were stairs around the way, and I confessed that that was the way I’d come and climbed it. Jessi balked, offering her feet instead, which I took. Lifted. A girl wearing black said, “That dog rocks!” and the boy asked her breed. “She’s a Vizsla.” “Oh, a Vizsla.” “You know Vizsla?” “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one.” “Well, there she is.” Ran a bit down the street, past two fat boys in an old BMW, then past them again, past silent churches and old buildings and parking structures, then walked through the crowds of well-dressed older people coming out of the Plummer Auditorium. The football game was letting out then too, and I walked into headlights and the psychotic flash of construction lights, toward silhouettes of hyper teenage girls, cheerleaders and other stereotypes, and past vicarious youths in large letter jackets. The hill to my house was misty and quiet, a sort of strange drawing back to this. Cold keys, cold room. Warm shower, warm bed.

 
This is no foreign country, but still there are adventures to be had.

some thoughts while brainstorming for the day of the dead project:

we each die a little every day.

memories fade,

feelings change.

there are a thousand ways to leave,

but it always happens one of two ways:

either we leave,

or we are left.

Currently Reading Plainsong (Vintage Contemporaries) By Kent Haruf see related

The Chad, Part 1

I first met Chad when I came to work at the Little Old Bookshop, about 8 years ago now. The bookshop was a different place then, more bizarre and chaotic. Most of the employees didn't work much, and our only contact with our addict boss was the nightly phone calls we made to report our earnings. We took our pay out of the drawer at the end of our shift, if there was enough there, and it was our responsibility to drive to the bank to deposit earnings when we were done (often after 10 at night).

Chad worked during the day on Sunday, so I would see him when I came in to work at night. He was a big guy, tall, with a round belly. He wore wrinkled button-up shirts, usually with a large coffee stain on the front. His fine brown curly hair stuck out in whatever direction it pleased. Chad knew all the books, and was usually sitting behind the counter reading when I came in.

When Brett bought the store, he fired Chad, but Chad continued to come in and buy books. We began to talk, and realized we had a lot in common. First, there was the interest in books, and our common experience working at the L.O.B. We also both liked to cook. There actually were few subjects that Chad wasn't interested in and didn't know about, so he always had something to input on any subject. Then one day I found out he liked to walk. As it happened, I was looking for a walking partner, so I suggested that we walk sometime, and he accepted with enthusiasm.

L.A.'s fine, the sun shines most the time

And the feeling is 'lay back'
Palm trees grow, and rents are low
But you know I keep thinkin' about
Making my way back

Well I'm New York City born and raised
But nowadays, I'm lost between two shores
L.A.'s fine, but it ain't home
New York's home, but it ain't mine no more

"I am," I said
To no one there
An no one heard at all
Not even the chair
"I am," I cried
"I am," said I
And I am lost, and I can't even say why
Leavin' me lonely still

Did you ever read about a frog who dreamed of bein' a king
And then became one
Well except for the names and a few other changes
If you talk about me, the story's the same one

But I got an emptiness deep inside
And I've tried, but it won't let me go
And I'm not a man who likes to swear
But I never cared for the sound of being alone

"I am," I said
To no one there
An no one heard at all
Not even the chair
"I am," I cried
"I am," said I
And I am lost, and I can't even say why
Leavin' me lonely still

I Am...I Said
by Neil Diamond