Ignore the wife for a second kiss good-bye, close the door. Slam the door, make sure it clicks. Damn, already spilt coffee on my shirt-button up jacket and get lazy secretary to actually do something and get new shirt…possibly lavender silk.

Birch street, just go-go-go. Too many people today, I’ll never get to work on time. 8:14:49 am, cell phone says 8:13:02, all wrong, wrong. I’m late, I’m late, says the white stockholder rabbit. Too many people on the sidewalk, too many people in the city. Why don’t we just kick out the dead weights, the unbelievers? Avoid eye contact, strong, confident strides. Subway is…too constipated. Just power walk to work. I’ll brag about it later. Damn I’m green.

Pine cone, coffee cup, pine cone, shopping bag, dog business, pine cone…where are these pine cones coming from?

Did I just cross the street without looking?

Oh damn, the “bad street”…homeless man, drunk old man, crazy lady with a parasol, Mr “The End is Neigh.” Avoid eye contact. Nope, I have no money for anybody. And this would be the prostitute line up at…8:21:59 am. Pink prostitute, short and glittery prostitute, denim prostitute, dirty grunge feminist chick-ouch ex-wife, face the sidewalk, go-go-go keep moving.

Work place, finally. Back to the grind. The rat race. The-stupid door. The hell? What the hell?! Stuck, pull harder…push? Nope. 8:24:38 am. BlackBerry says no missed calls. I’m at the right building…where is everyone? Slackers! Or am I…?

8:25:13 am, April 19th, 2009.
Saturday.  

Why didn’t my wife say anything when I left?…look down, face the sidewalk. Go.