Certainly old-er. Genuine fatigue was shoving its way into my body and mind by the time I started out for my little home in the woods overlooking two rivers. It had grown dark while I hung around The Grain. Now, the dark was deeper. And colder. And since I had kept my eyes mostly on the road as I drove past the Rockbluff Motel where I noticed Suzanne’s 4Runner parked, all I wanted to do was rest. I drove on home, parked, and went inside. But my cell phone rang. My cell phone never rings. It knows I hate it, but it’s a necessary evil. Like dental floss. I enjoy the idea of ignoring my cell and just waiting for the person to leave a message. Or call back. Or not, which is best of all. Then I can decide what I want to do. I hadn’t even had a moment to mess with Gotcha, or sit down and put up my feet, and there’s that interruption from the first few notes of “Three Blind Mice.” It was a brass monkey night. I was well fed. Pleasantly lightheaded from the Belgian ale, but a bit too much on my mind to be able to relax and just go to bed.
