Glum Thoughts Are Tired
2:16 a.m.
I think of you as I arrive home and shimmy into the tiny parking space between Jaun’s truck and the trash cans. A cat flickers twice, once for each headlight, then disappears down the path under the tiny fruit tree toward the Guatemalan’s house. I shut off my quiet Scion and sigh.
As I pad up the backstairs I have the vaguest notion that our homeless friend has returned. Sometimes she sleeps under there. Other times she washes her naked butt in the front yard with our garden hose. We usually hide it now. I decide not to take any chances. I step lightly. I am quiet. Mortgage or no, dreams ought not be stirred by the thoughtless Big Mac footfalls of beguiled Midwestern yokels.
At the top of the stairs I push lightly on the back-door — a door locked at the knob, but askew of the jam — an impotent door… or is it the lock? Either way, something isn’t working properly.
Glum thoughts are tired — I’m feeling tired myself. I think of you and replay the day as I kick off my shoes and flop into bed. I fall asleep, but not before several tosses and turns and bumps in the night. That black and white movie feeling creeps through the room again, and Hollywood starlets wink and giggle then give way to the darkness.
Category: Thoughts