Or that’s what I thought he said while I
unscrewed the lightbulb that only one
manufacturer provides. Later, I ran into
Todd in a hurry. And wondered if he has
social anxiety, too. Maybe times seem so
different because communication is mini-
mized surrealism. Only five years ago I’d
receive daily treatises via email while today
we argue via text messages. These are almost
the only words I ever delete. I also have some
hair. Most cameras disagree. Do I mind?
As for musical taste, I’m beginning to lose
friends. My family is not so very big, and
we are losing staff at a steady rate. One,
two, three, and so forth. But I’ve noticed
longer conversations. Verbal, I mean.
I haven’t read a novel in two or three years.
I picked one up at the San Jose Airport a
couple of weeks ago, awaiting an important
arrival. To be honest, I was just along for
the ride or hovering a bit too much or the
bastion of moral support. I read two or
three pages of it and, when I finally got
home, promptly tucked it in between
a couple of dust-covered golden oldies.
The bookshelf in the kitchen has been
that kind of hiding place for over
eight years now. I read you, man,
but I’ve a fertile fantasy world
up in here already. And time
is money, you know?
