Morning brunch on the Square. The streets are empty. It’s a holiday, isn’t it? I park, I read the meter: not enforced on week-ends and holidays. I put away my quarters.
After brunch I find a ticket on the windshield. I chase down the enforcement cop. Not a city holiday??? -- I ask. Look, if you want to give me the day off, that’s great. I’ll vote you in. Until then, pay up.
A cop with a sense of humor. Ha ha.
Afternoon coffee off of State Street. I know better. I feed the meter with a quarter and a dime. It buys me 22 minutes of peace and quiet in the parking space. And yet, after 17 minutes, I get a ticket. What just happened??? I have no idea.
In the early evening, I drive my daughter to the airport. I see her through the lines, I wave, my eyes brimming with daughter love (for the one who is leaving, for the other who is far away)…
I exit the parking. I clock in at sixteen minutes – one too many to get a free pass.
At home, I put the pumpkin and its cousin out on the balcony. I’m feeling sort of like the slumped guy. There are days when everything falls into place. So they say.