I wake up with feathers in my mouth. It was a rough night. A lot of tossing and turning. It sounds cliche, but I couldn’t get my brain to turn off. I think it’s because I didn’t really want it to. I was enjoying the ride.
It took getting on my phone again and reading through my own blog to finally fall asleep. I remember that some of the dreams I was having were about race. I think there was a white, conservative, middle-aged salesman who was in love with a black woman and his coworkers were either teasing him about it or helping him come to terms with his conflicted feelings.
That’s what I think the dream was about. It’s hard to remember. I was having it while tripping through my long line of alarms and trying as hard as I could to wake up earlier than I have been. I was successful. I was awake by nine-forty. The kettle on the stove. When it whistles, I take of my clothes and turn on the shower. While the shower is heating up I run the razor over my five-o’clock shadow. My nails are still long, but clipping them takes a little more work. Oh, how things have changed now that I’ve done the hard work and done away with my beard. Shaving is super easy now.
The shower feels nice and I don’t want to get out. I needed this. There was sex in my loins from last night. I had opened Musette’s robes and fucked her. She needed that. Maybe we both did. I don’t know if you needed to hear it, but now you have.
After the shower, I pour myself a cup of coffee. Time is on my side today, but I still have to stay on top of it. It’s been getting away from me recently.
I put deodorant on, and then I put my clothes on. It’s a green button-up shirt day. I have to search through the pile on top of the dog kennel to find it. But I am determined. I also wear my favorite gray cardigan covered by my new fur lined hoodie, covered by my coat. I put my phone in the left inner pocket along with the schmiggie. Normally I would put my pen in there as well, but it fits more appropriately in the chest pocket of my green shirt. I put my wallet in the inner right pocket, and my keys in my lower right.
Before I leave, I take the dog out. He defecates around the corner of the bar like usual. On the way back, when crossing the taffy street, a woman asks if she can say hello to him. I tell her why not. He jumps around as she pets him, and she says thank goodness that they got to meet.
I drop the dog off in the apartment and leave for work. I have my headphones in. Google Music keeps wanting me to listen to a Raschmaninov Piano concerto, so I give the track a try. A man standing in a doorway motions me to him and asks if he can smoke from my hookah as he calls it. I tell him no. He asks me why not. I tell him that I don’t let people smoke from it. He then asks me if I have a cigarette. Again I tell him no.
I don’t have any of that either.
Alright, he says, giving me a fist bump full of rings.
I continue walking, through the particle board tunnels, past the church, beneath the gyro stand subway bridge and the walls of Christmas trees, into Bushwick and stopping at the bake shop to pick up a coffee and a gluten free peanut butter cookie, which I’ve never had before and didn’t know that it costs a dollar more than the non-gluten free chocolate chip one that I usually get.
There goes your tip, I think to myself as the total comes to five dollars instead of four breaking my 10 dollar bill into smaller ones all larger than ones.
I arrive at the shop right at 11:30.