what was that? is that all there is? who is this? this is it.

If the bench was still there, I’d sit on it.

Today could be the day that I turn on the heat in my apartment. I’ve reached all the arbitrary deadlines and imaginary goals and now it’s actually cold in Seattle. But first I need to scrape the ice off the inside of the window so I can look outside.

Crisp.

It’s all there in the dispatch log.
Or it used to be.

Originals saved for seven years.

Sometimes I wear my pick-up hat.
Sometimes I wear my drop-off hat.
Sometimes I wear my roundtrip hat.

Sometimes I wear my do-not-care hat.

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