glassfrost freezair. dark. still.
It might as well be Monday or well past midnight (not that after midnight’s a bad place to be, no matter where you are or what day of the week it is) but the fact is it’s Wednesday morning and the almost zero weatherman proclaims the entire area’s a wind chill factory, says it’s just barely out of the single digits and wind’s telling you it’s about 20 below. Like it or not. But who, after all, can? Notme.
And I was commuting on a train just before I woke up, selling insurance almost all night, or playing solitaire and teaching my fellow passengers how to sell insurance by making them think I was teaching them how to play solitaire. It was one of those dreams; and it was one of those sudden wakeups when all you can do is think what a weird way to commute into wakefulness: All the fold-out trays on the train car I was dreaming in were covered by army blankets instead of tablecloths and at first no one was interested in either insurance or solitaire but I was having such a good time going from passenger to passenger, showing them the ropes and explaining the rules, telling them the secret to successful solitaire salesmanship that long before the train pulled into the station and I woke up to the sub-zero reality of Wednesday morning I had everyone on board fully on board and they were all glad to smile and they were smiling at me, offering to sit down there right next to me and enjoy a nice game of solitaire whether I liked it or not.
soon enough coffee