Dear Wigleaf,

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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W i g l e a f               11-28-12                                [home]