After a five or six day nap, you wake up and realize the grass has been greening and the forsythia has been yellowing while you have been sleeping. You remember, on a cellular level, that it feels more than a little bit good to be outside and under the sun's light. You are nourished by the ribbing of your coworkers and find yourself uplifted by the sight of their faces. You remember that it's Spring and consider the possibility that you may not be dying after all.
On the way home, you stop off at a diner. The one closest to your house. They make a good Bloody Mary that goes well with a late Sunday morning omelette. It's a good place, but it's not great. The owner is a hardworking guy who's always there seating people or cooking. He's a Republican and somehow makes that fact known to you every time you go in there. He's kind of a local character, you guess, but his humor doesn't work with you.
Today's Republican party? You imagine asking him that. Are you in the Klan too? Are you a Russian agent? I'm a fucking American, brother. You must be living on Planet Fox.
You were having a pretty nice day right up until then. You started thinking that maybe his comments, said in your vicinity every time you go in there, - which is not very often - weren't just a matter of chance. You're not going to bum out about it though. You chart your own course. Bloody Marys aren't that hard to make.
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