Monday January 14 2013


☼ ○ ▬

Hanging from a scaffold, high up on a story at least above 100 floors. I’m not even sure I understand the mechanics of how this thing is keeping me from falling. It almost seems like I’m simply floating. Something bad is about to happen, something apocalyptic. A bomb goes off, or an explosion without flames. The building immediately falls apart. I feel my stomach push up in my throat and now I’m just falling, falling, falling. There’s a platform hovering underneath me that I manage to plant my feet down onto. As soon as it hits the ground below I hop up in hopes of softening my fall. It works because I’m still alive and without broken bones. I locate some of my buddies and we congregate at the top of another building where it’s understood is the only safe place. All of a sudden the building starts to swerve left and right. So we have to hold on tight and prevent ourselves from flying off the side. It’s terribly unnerving. Part of me knows I’m dreaming and I almost let go cause I know I’ll just wake up upon impact. But I don’t. I persevere through the swinging feeling and hang on with all my might.

▬ ○ ☼

Alarm goes off at 11:05 a.m.

Oranges and a Banana.

All day shift at China Wok.

Elliott drops in for a visit to eat his usual General Tso’s Chicken.

Not one single delivery order has come through and it’s been almost two hours. I delegate myself to put the fried noodles into individual baggies. I’ve found a certain satisfaction to these kinds of tedious tasks. I really enjoy it.

Egg Sandwich with Mayonnaise and Tomato. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

Drizzly rainy night but still gratefully warm. The orders finally pick up around 5 o’clock.

Hot and Sour Soup with Fried Noodles and Broccoli.

Delivering an order on Wolfsnare. I notice a sign on the storm door that says, “Savannah, Let’s play monopoly. You got the ‘Go Straight To Your Room’ card. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.00. My inability to walk in your room is going to lead to child abuse. Please clean. < 3 Mom."

The mom answers the door.

Leslie accompanies me at The Wok during the last hour. I’m grateful to be hanging out with her again. Her mind is extremely active all the time with clever and nifty ideas.

Back home. She follows along. Hanging out in my bedroom allowing her to browse through my shoeboxes of old photos, ranging from my baby years and on through my high school years. All the pictures are organized into little green folder covers with the word memories printed in gold on the front.

Me: “I can’t believe you’re going through all my memories right now.”


She drives us to Harris Teeter as I was in need of milk. Pulling back into the neighborhood. She puts on this wispy folk-pop album by Blind Pilot. Parked at the end of our court. The song serenading. I observe her sink down into the driver seat and stretch her legs straight up, a funny position to relax in. I try to mimic this pose in the passenger seat. After laughing at ourselves I comment, “This is a pretty moment. Not just the music. I mean the song makes up for at least 75% of it though.”


I’m curious to see where this friendship goes. It’s been a slow and sporadic progression. Romantic associations only teeter on the tip of my thoughts but nothing substantial enough to identify with this. There’s still a lot of mystery to her but I see many great character traits and genuine not-so-fake perspectives.

Cheerios with Brown Sugar and Milk.

Sleep 4 a.m.

[i] Kilian Eng.

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