It is the day before the day before Thanksgiving. Things are well here.
I finally raked the leaves over the weekend. This morning the long
grass was frosted stiff like hairsprayed hair lying flat in all the
directions of the rake. The kids woke up late but we got them out the
door on time.
This is my morning commute. I wait at the bus stop next to the park
across from the mechanic, the pizza place, and two empty storefronts.
The sun melts the frost on the power lines and water drips onto the
sidewalk in an irregular line. On the bus I think about the classes I
will teach today. The old nightclub next to the highway, the one that
had been standing decrepit for years, has been torn down and a huge
complex of buildings is going up. The motel. The bowling alley. The
train station. There are many empty seats in the train car this
morning. A man gets on at the next stop and takes a seat. "You are all
my special family," he says. The train roars between stops. The doors
open, the train car fills. It's quiet before the doors close. The man
says, "We're all one big happy family."
This all happened in the order I've described above, except for the
last bit about the man. That happened on the ride home. Also, I wrote
most of this on the day before the day before Thanksgiving. But then I
rewrote it this morning, which is the day before Thanksgiving.
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