I am at the packing table at threadless. We are sending tees to Sweden, New Zealand, Norway, and beyond. "I like looking at where the shirts are going," says a girl next to me. "Sometimes I wish I could climb in and go along with them."
I am leaving the grocery store and something very strange makes me stop. After a few seconds, I realize no, someone has not taken my women's vintage blue Schwinn sprint with a black Working Bikes sticker from my apartment and locked it to this pole. I put down my gallon of milk on the sidewalk and pull out my notebook. I jot a short note and string it through the brake cables of the bike. I write "Dear owner of this bike. I have the exact same bike! I bought it at Working Bikes, too!"
I am trying on designer jeans. The sales woman asks what I think about a pair of Joe's. I tell her I think they make me look homely. She gives me a bizarre look. "Homely? I think they look good." I don't even know what about these jeans is homely. Can one describe jeans as homely? Did I just feel like using that word in a sentence today? She says they make my butt look good. She is right. I buy them.
I finally run into my neighbor with the typewriter. "What are you writing?" I ask. He is working on another novel, but wants to finish this one for once so that he can get it published. He says he is sorry if the typing bothers me. He hasn't quite caught up with the times and purchased one of those laptops. "No, I like coming home to you typing," I say. "It inspires me."