Served Any Time
Desperately looking for a last second Christmas present? Here’s what’s open in my neighborhood:
![[Wrapping Leavings]](http://www.struat.com/here/cuddlymessenger.jpg)
I hope everyone is having a good day.
I think I’ll read a book tonight.
Tonight I’m watching A Day at the Races and The Maltese Falcon.
![[painted-over graffiti]](http://www.struat.com/here/grayrails.jpg)
I am getting some work done, out of tea, getting over a cold, frustrated and uninspired, making one more draught on my savings, not feeling the Christmas spirit, ignoring an email, and at least six feet if I stand up straight.
There’s an old van parked in the lot next to the vehicle emissions testing station. It has a diagnostic computer pushed up next to the side door and a sign advertising “repairs starting at $39.95”. The mechanic is sitting in the front seat skimming through a magazine.
There’s a tow truck stopped in the middle of a dark street. The engine is running and its lights are flashing. The driver is nearby, standing on the sidewark next to a parked car. He shouts at someone inside, “You’re just keeping my phone so you can listen to my messages. That’s ignorant.”
A girl walks into the corner pizza place and borrows the yellow pages so she can look for tattoo artists.
I put together a little web store for prints of my photos. Prices are $10-$20 (plus shipping) and there’s a 2-for-1 deal this month. Maybe they’d make a nice gift for someone.
Darien is standing just outside in his sweats when I go out. He’s shuffling between his feet to stay warm.
He asks me how I’m doing.
I answer him automatically, “I’m good.” I hear my answer at the same time that he does and realize it may not be honest. “What are you up to?” I ask him.
“I’m waiting for some friends. I don’t have a doorbell, so this is how I have to do it.”
His phone number could easily be programmed into the front entrance intercom — he’d just have to look up who’s job that is. But I don’t point that out because I’ve already mentioned it to him a couple of times.
He asks about my Thanksgiving and I roll the answer around in my head a few times before giving it. I reframe it to avoid allusions to things that weren’t Thanksgiving that might betray the good charade. I settle on, “I had dinner with friends.”
“So the usual,” he says, “Just at a different place.”
I ask him, “What did you do for Thanksgiving?” and his answer flashes into my head before he gives it.
“I went to my Grandma’s.”
When there’s a quiet patch in the conversation, I tell him that I’m heading off.
“Alright.” He holds out his hand for a buddy handshake — a cross between a handshake and a high five. I swing my hand out and reach for his, and I give him a little more shake and a little less five than he’s expecting. He adjusts his clasp to compensate. I turn away from the handshake and walk into the street. A car is coming around the traffic circle, so I dodge quick to the other side to beat it.
A packed van slows down for the stoplight by the Community College. The front passenger-side window rolls down and a guy sticks his head out and yells out to an attractive girl who’s walking past: “Hey, we’re signing to a major label today. Want to come? Have you ever been to the Columbia Building?”