THE APPARITION OF THESE FACES ON THE TRAIN
The co-mingling displeasure of a thousand groggy passengers fills the Monday train with the kind of ripe silence that precedes meltdown. I am standing in the middle of it, my gloved hand—yes, gloved in this season—wrapped around a pole to keep me grounded at the turns. A girl is reading Knit Two. I have not heard of this book, but quickly vow to hate its title forever. ("Knitting. You see? It's a metaphor!")

A large, round membrane of ice covers the grass at Seward Park.

•••

It's Tuesday and my office is cold. My hands are cold. I recognize that I have been having trouble writing lately and so resolve to continue typing until something happens. My mind desperately seeks distraction, but I fight it. This very paragraph hangs in the balance. It has no idea how close it is to being discarded forever. Will my need to get over this overcome my desire to confront it later? The answer is becoming more and more apparent. My fingers are warming to the task and I now sit upright, wishing I could type at the speed of thought.

There.

But not yet there. I bristle with stockpiled frustration born of silent weeks. There's so much more needs to be done.

RAIN GAMES
The hour has been taken, and so the morning fails to rush, instead unraveling with the foggy deliberation of an inebriate. I am unaccustomed to seeing the sunlight come at me from this angle, burning my eyes through the open spaces as my train car twists and clatters southward. Purple dots and blue streaks dance inside my eyelids. It's a silly dance. Your uncle's wedding reception dance.

On Friday night, Lauren and I saw Dan Auerbach at the Metro. For a moment, it looked like Those Darlins might steal the show, but they didn't. Dan was just too good.

I watched Saturday from apartment windows, for the most part, venturing out only for a quick burger and beer at The Grafton. The rains came like a long, deep recession—battering everyone on the way down and then strangling them on the roadside. The sheets of heavy precipitation carried into Sunday, but tapered off Sunday afternoon in time for bowling. I bowled two of my best games in the history of mankind.

And then I ate Duck Curry at Spoon Thai.