It was a cool autumn morning and we tried to drink coffee on the porch but Elena was getting restless about the money.
“Why don’t you go up to Bloomington and find someone?”
I didn’t want to go to Bloomington because every time I went to Bloomington I couldn’t remember Bloomington IL or Bloomington IN or Bloomington MN.
“I’m not drunk.”
Antonio knocked on the door and that was that.
I was in Michigan that summer, right before everything seemed to change. I found a good spot for fishing and that was good for three days and on the fourth day I woke up and Bill, a big Ojibwa from the peninsula was there at the bank with his rod in the water.
Kelly boarded the plane carrying her Kafka book and the flight attendant said “Kafka, you don’t see that on a plane every day” and Kelly said “are you on a plane every day?” and the man said “yes, I am. I am a flight attendant.”
I got in the Lyft, which I took because I was running late of course, and the driver asked me what airline and I said “Southwest.”
“They don’t fly out of Ohare” he said.
“Do you mean O’Hare?” I asked.
Kelly and I were down in the basement of the old post office where we used to sit and drink bad coffee during the war and then better coffee after the war.
“What bus were you trying to take?” she asked.