twelve minutes to 5:30 (a.m.
or p.m.) in this particular
dimension? I don’t really
remember working three
hours or doing laundry
for Kids in the Hall. It
pays for the t-shirt with
dishes, a covert move
(seedy transaction) on
the mezzanine in the
days when we would
watch a bit of DVD
and then show up
dancing the night
away. Once upon
a weekend we’d
even be home in
time for chitchat
with visitors from
out of town. Arise
half-tapped (giddy
in a mimosa way)
to escort them up
and down Powell
for dim sum. Now-
adays it’s always
time to go—with-
out even an ounce
of wherewithal (an
umbrella, say?...
or so it goes today
with good old
so and so).
