Busy-ness. Half the day at the real job, then straight downtown to the bookstore for the night all this past week. We go to the new place straight off one night and we’re fucking around with the tape measure in all this empty space, all these decorating books filling my head with patterns, colors, possibilities. Then Blaise calls because he’s in Queens and he sounds alone and very far away. The most honest thing I could’ve said was, it’s just a little farther east, say a prayer and break all the windows. Instead I pass him along to Sam.
On the patio by Lancer, you can tell it’s happy hour because it’s a weeknight and the bartender is the only one drunk and because we decide nothing’s going to get to us for now. Then moving. Then Red Rocks. Me and Sam and some beer and finding a trail off the pavement to listen to Iron and Wine and all I’m thinking, really, is I’m glad I’m here, it’s been a year already and I can choose now what to remember.
One of the librarians has me helping pick titles for the book club, I got lucky the first time with The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and now she thinks I’ve got a knack. Maybe I do. So I figured I’d better read it. One of those popular, “literary” novels, on the whole not bad. It could give a bunch of people with nothing else in common a lot to talk about and even the characters I didn’t like amused me. One of those things that sucks you in so even though you know what’s going to happen, you keep going anyway because you really want to see what it looks like. (And yes, okay, I take back what I said about Stoker’s monopoly on epist0latory novels.) Scouting the area on wikipedia makes me want to see it for myself, but for now I don’t really want to be anywhere else.
