the lights stay on
I'm at work staying open later than usual, trying to bleed a little more from the sidewalks. Anything, really. This will likely become a regular ritual despite what successes there are. So far, nothing. I brightly noticed traffic making its way from Denver, which means people will check into their over-priced hotels and timeshares, ignoring the generic mountain artwork on the walls before grabbing a bite to eat and letting their wallets pant a little - leading to a weekend's worth of powder surfing and wet sock wringing. Usually, that is. Things are frigid out there in more ways than one. Instead I'm shifting here uncomfortably on an unpadded wooden stool, the fountain to my left louder than usual, the Muzak sounding more anemic.
And I remind myself things will be okay. The worst that can happen is that I die. Unless the economy magically incarnates as an Acme-branded anvil above my head, that's unlikely to happen.
And I remind myself things will be okay. The worst that can happen is that I die. Unless the economy magically incarnates as an Acme-branded anvil above my head, that's unlikely to happen.