Dryer, Broken and in the Basement

Dryer, Broken and in the Basement

9:06 p.m. We’re on our way back from the grocery store. As we drive down the rainy road, I notice a mother in a window illuminated by florescent light. She loads her dryer. Her hair is tousled. She our neighbor down the way. Don’t really know them too well.

A partly dried lump of laundry waits in my dryer. When I arrive at home, I will run downstairs and turn the dryer back on. I will haul the groceries in on multiple trips through the never-ending mist and rain.

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Another Day Remembered

Sometimes, you can just wait and live life, and suddenly:

Please and thank you become part of a child's vocabulary. Easy and honest.

Or, maybe a child shares the crispy, salty skin of a roasted chicken with his mother and father. Easy and honest.

Or, maybe you're feeling crummy and a child gives you a hug. A nice, long hug.

Maybe things change and maybe things change in time. In time. Easy and honest.

GET ON THE DANCE FLOOR THIS IS NOT GOING TO LAST

GET ON THE DANCE FLOOR THIS IS NOT GOING TO LAST

Not long after that time, I went to a show with a friend, Doug. I can't remember what band we were watching. They were catchy, though. I wore my deceased grandfather's straw cowboy hat. I turned to Doug, and said something like, "F/ck this. No one's dancing, but I am going to. I could be dead." He nodded.

I have been dancing, alone in crowds, since.

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