Coffee Log, Day 168

Hi.

Coffee: Fair Trade Five County Espresso Blend, Trader Joe’s Brand

I take the highway at 65 high-school-track-fields per hour, faster than the 8-minute miles I managed fifteen years ago. Things sped up; times changed.

I’m working Raleigh, a branch I haven’t been to. Maps come out the car speaker anticipating twists and turns, turning the music down automatically, red lines for bad traffic, or lines in the eyes where I haven’t been sleeping, supplementing missed midnights with caffeine.

Crickets in the early mornings when I walk the two turnbacks downstairs to the parking lot, reminding me of that one night after high school when we all went to Cedarock Park and built a fire, grilled hot dogs, slept bare-skinned in sleeping bags, made reckless love with ticks and crickets and coal-cracking store-bought branches; or of nights lost to five-more-minutes with the four inches of my iPhone, a spaceship/rocketship sort of life, burning time like jet fuel; or of strawberry-cheeks and IPA lipgloss, the ways I wish I saw you, the ways I wish you saw me, but only the white walls ever see much of anything, even though I haven’t hung them with anything yet.

I’m a bill-payer; news-checker; chatbox stalker; internet lover; a Modern Man.

Currently Reading: LaRose, Louise Erdrich

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“I didn’t need to think of myself as a walleye drifting along in a current somewhere, just waiting for my hook. I was yearning for it.” – Emily Fridlund, A History of Wolves

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Coffee Log, Day 66

Hi.

Coffee: Organic Bolivian Blend, Trader Joe’s Brand

Rain-blushed yellow, that’s how the road was. I drove the Triangle Expressway – a toll road I don’t usually take – to get me home faster, my old home, Burlington, and the highway passed under other highways I often travel and the traffic was not bad, the wind mobile as a toddler, Spring born over and over in dewey-wet trees still hanging on between the outlet malls, and all I could do was think about twenty years ago when it was probably just trees and about how regular it is to watch living things die and get replaced by permanent concrete and how hate and violence are the stuff of nature and civility is as much a stiff brick as all that concrete, less vibrant but providing for people, only the tack holding our gray-red monster of a wall in one piece keeps chipping.

Currently Reading:
The Pardoner’s Tale, by John Wain

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“You show me a capitalist, and I’ll show you a bloodsucker.” – Malcolm X

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