I thought it was Kim, my friend Jen’s roommate, making all that noise, moving stuff around, in their living room at 1 in the morning, but then this morning, as we sat around in our pjs drinking black tea, Kim said she thought it was me, and asked what I was doing in the kitchen. I said, I wasn’t doing anything in the kitchen, what were you doing in the living room, and she said I never went into the living room, you sounded too focused in the kitchen. I didn’t want to disturb you.
“I could have been astral planing again,” offered Jen.
You must understand Jen’s current post-knee-op crutched condition to accept this as a plausable response. There is no way she could have gotten around with such agility any other way.
It could have been Danny the Cat, but my own cat Mila can’t do what I swear I heard coming from the living room, and no offense, she is much larger and stronger than Danny the Cat, who was sleeping on my head, anyway.
I heard heavy footsteps, walking to and fro’, and the sound of glasses clanking. It went from the living room to the kitchen. I heard two feet, not one foot and a crutch, and not four feet and fur.
Whatever it was, you’d think it’d have the common decency to wash the rest of the dishes in the sink. Lazy ethereal spirit.
At the bridge back home this morning, I followed behind a large white Ford truck to give me a moment to dig up four dollars for toll and to roll down Lucy’s window, which is always a struggle. As I reached out my window to pay, the toll booth operator told me I’d already been covered by the driver of the truck, who took off speeding down the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, never to be seen again.