Highway 99 is also called Aurora, because if you squint you can always see a sunrise in between the peeling profiles of the auto lots. Every wall has attitude. The elderly in their motorized walkers tend to snarl and spit rather than say Godbless, keeping it real, Thankyou. Old age is not for the poor, or the faint of heart. (Note to young profligates, start saving now for the Home in your future lest you be cast out and running GofundMe’s for a new set of wheels at 80.) I love my garage. It’s worth having my beloved Toyota88 under the weather just to go in and talk about brake shoes with people who can fix things. At the Starbucks I chat with the city water crew, two insanely handsome men😘, (< is the use of that emoticon actionable harassment?) and learn everything I didn’t know about why it takes 6 months to make a curb wheelchair friendly. Unions. As spoken by members of the brotherhood. All that standing around is because there may be 5 different unions at any one time, each allocated to a primary element: concrete, metal, earth, wind, flag, and so forth. Only the concrete guy can touch concrete, and only the metal shaman can touch a pipe. One of the water guys says: why don’t we just have one Union? Did no one ever think of that before😶? It sounds, in this season, almost holy, and puts the holiday sparkle in my bland corporate latte. Talk to strangers, my friends, that’s how we make a more perfect Union.
From The Daily Journal of Walking Around, an occasional infliction of my writing on the Instagram community.
A break from beds for the respite of The Abstract Moment. How many times have I been saved from a bad mood by parking lot floors? This particular sample of sublime wabisabi courtesy of Greenwood Fred Meyer. Pick up your LED Christmas lights and SprayOnSnow and pause for a moment to dive into the infinite. The closer it gets the better it looks.