I got up early to go walking. I ran into a woman and her dog. The dog’s name was ‘Spock.’ I asked if he was an intergalactic traveler. She said ‘Yes.’ Spock licked my shoes.
It was a nice morning. People were out. Quite a bit cooler, overcast, waiting to rain. Later, after lunchtime, I went with E to Lazy Days in downtown Cary. It’s an art walk, a craft walk, a reason for the city to come together, and it happens each year but this is the first time I’d attended. Downtown was packed with people. There were only a few places to park. We walked by the old buildings swinging our umbrella and then we crossed the train-tracks and heard a proselytizer. He had a loudspeaker. He said ‘Give up your life of sin and reclaim your life of God.’
The food was alright. I had yuca fries for the first time. They were sweeter and softer than potatoes. After an hour, I had plans, so I left E with some friends and walked back across the train tracks on my own. I saw lots of people. Five women wearing pink on a Southern porch. A man in a Trump hat. Two college kids talking about oppression.
Next to my car were four more proselytizers, only these were buttoned up like Sunday and speaking Spanish. I don’t know if there’s a God. If you put my life on the line for it, I’d bet there isn’t. But today felt holy because everyone was out in the open – together – waiting for the rain.
Coffee: Peach Black Tea, Unknown brand; I didn’t have time to make coffee this morning so I grabbed the first thing with caffeine; this is old tea, a gift of six pouches in a ziplock bag; I’d had most of them at the time but a few were left; it was mellow and sweet; it reminded me of the person who gave it to me; she had eager hands, the kind that were always a little stiff, ready to start the next project.
It was the sort of day where the wind bends in to sniff you. Not quite winter, not quite spring, not quite anything other than ‘not-summer.’ The clouds had stirred themselves up to a tizzy. It didn’t rain, but it often looked like it might.
I took a late lunch at a Subway. It was one of those places you find squirreled in the corner of a Wal-Mart. The guy at the counter was already helping someone, so I stood around watching the people at the counters, the dead-bored greeters, the hustle and bustle of the store. Blue and white are great colors for the big suck of a department store. Cold and desolate, a Canadian tundra.
When it was my turn, I made small talk with the Subway chef. He made me a good sub. We talked about the warm weather and banking and after I paid I shook his hand. His wife was behind the register doing taxes.
Never underestimate the power of a cloudy day. With no sun to distract you, it’s easier to notice the details.
Novel Count: 18,430
Currently Reading: Killing Commendatore, Haruki Murakami
I remember staying to look at it for a long time, as one would linger within reach of a consoling whisper. The sky was pearly grey. It was one of those overcast days so rare in the tropics, in which memories crowd upon one, memories of other shores, of other faces.