My Walk to Work

purveyor of mondays, it was a many-carred week-end. one with a macy’s display of warning lights, one with a flat tire that we drove on the highway anyway, and one they just stared at blankly when I pulled into the lot. (parked half on the sidewalk, because, eh).

I waited on the platform for a less crowded train this morning. When I got off, so did a woman wearing just a slip. On Huntington, where the cabs barely graze each other, I slid through my criss-crossed parabolas of bad memories and the store I needed to be open on friday

was closed all day monday as well. The cat may be starving. I will ask her if I can get her to stop spazzing long enough. In front of the package store which is always already hovered by 8 in the morning, discarded 6-hole plastic nooses for beer cans strew the sidewalk. I’ve been told to cut them before throwing them on the ground, but there are no sea turtles on mass ave anymore, anyway.

I knew lunch would be alone in a chinese restaurant I know is usually empty, dark and below street level. I’d put my book and notebook and pen on the table, try to make myself feel safe in the middle of this city I hate. Muzak Carpenters and Elvis, string beans in garlic sauce. I was late to work, but I still sat in the study lounge on the first floor

to write for a few minutes. I knew what kind of day it would be. It is a 6-floor climb up narrow stairs. This is my walk to work.