Tuesday.

I found the frother.

He tells me he isn’t feeling well. I tell him to get in the shower. He tells me he threw up. I tell him to get in the shower. He tells us he’s still feeling bad. I tell him to get in the bed.

I call her as soon as I get into my office. We don’t have four hours, but we have enough time to make it meaningful.

They get me.

Like toy soldiers.

At least there is this to look forward to.

Familiar faces. Not enough time to talk between the bells. The setting sun. They say they are sweating from the air horn. We step in time. I am imagining things. I am not imagining things.

Two helpings of chicken pot pie.

“I'm waking up/I can feel it all/I'm waking up/I can breathe, I can love for you?/But I know that you want me too/I feel it burn/I feel it burn.”