And just like that, everything is different.
Sleeping outside is suddenly full of more risk, more animate consciousnesses; flying things like lumbering beetles and sometimes mosquitoes, and lots of baby bunnies and mousies and the cats on the prowl and the helicopter, searching for miscreants every night now.
Is there more crime in summer than winter, even in a temperate zone?
I moved inside three nights ago, but find that in the heat of the mid-afternoon, I once again have the yard to myself and I can siesta in the garden bed. There is a red mosquito net, if I want. But the nights, they might be finished for now. Too many creatures.
Last night, due entirely to a wave of stupid that either now lives at or hit Rincon Market like a virus (they simply cannot survive if this is all that they have to work with now, but looking at their online menu and seeing terrible grammatical errors I fear that they are lost) I ended up at Brooklyn Pizza, in the market for a slice with basil.
There was all manner of excitement in the street, the doorway, the air, as a robbery and an apprehension had occurred, and en scene was the Perfect Detective in a lavender shirt. I was mesmerized.
A photograph could never capture him; no picture could, because he has stillness. He was almost completely still until he moved, and when he moved, he moved without waste, and when I was watching him, he knew it, even when I was inside a building. I could watch him forever and my eyes would never go hungry, trying to absorb the secret.
I will do all of us (but especially him) the favor of forgetting him immediately. If he is lucky he will never see me again.
Bill and the boys were in Chicago this past weekend, visiting the Art Institute of Chicago, where Liam plans to go. It’s so exciting, and Liam is quite taken with the Loop and the feel of the city. I’ve always loved it there, of course. Chicago was my favorite American city until I met Boston.
Evan and Bill went out on the glass Skydeck at the Willis Tower, 103 floors up.
If your nerve deny you
go above your nerve
he can lean against the grave
if he fear to swerve