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Which means I’d better
get a move on. Traffic
will be a bitch. A glance
out the window confirms
it’s a crystal-edged October
day. Perfect football weather.
I shave. Shower. No time
for breakfast, a quick brush
to excise morning mouth.
Jeans. Long-sleeved blue tee
sporting the X logo. It’s a little
wrinkled, but the black leather
bomber will camouflage that.
Socks. Socks? My sock drawer
is empty. Oh, well. Yesterday’s
shouldn’t be too bad. Mom’s always
griping about my dirty laundry.
All you have to do is get it from
your room to the la
undry room.
Twenty-five steps total. How hard
could that be? The word isn’t “hard.”
It’s “organized.” Not my best thing.
Yesterday’s socks it is. New pair
of Nikes, barely scuffed at all.
Out the door in twenty minutes.
If I’m lucky, I won’t be late.
IT’S A HALF-HOUR DRIVE
To the station. Another forty
minutes to load the remote
