Tuesday, October 27, 2009

the sweetness of potatoes


Dark outside. Even though here, in Cambridge, the promise is of a brilliant day. No matter. Not my brilliant day. I can only realize perhaps a modicum of brilliance if I get to where I have to be on time.

And so I hurry.


And I'm okay. I make it. To the airport, onto my flight, out of Boston.


Sadly so. And it continues: goodbye coastline, hi Detroit, hi cloudy drizzly Madison -- thank you for not delaying anything. I'm in.

Well, "in" is relative. I'm in Madison, but out and running. To class. Out and onto another bus and quickly to the little shop where I moonlight.

You know what's the definition of a good, kind boss? One who thinks to bring you some potatoes from her uncle's farm, because she remembers that you like the fresh and honest bit.

Quiet evening at the shop. Not really surprised. cold drizzle outside, Monday night.

A sad night, a tired night. An okay night. A transitional night.