Small town Bob in Book Two

Small town life today starts at about 8am. I don’t know why I am getting so my sleep. I go to bed shortly after 8 and sleep straight on through, like that old Doors song, to the other side. Ten hours is my guess, thereabouts. And yesterday a nap - a deep hour into the depths of darkness. It’s weird. In Taiwan I would get 5 or 6 hours a night and 20 minutes in the afternoon.

I was likely napping when Adam and May hooked up the Airstream and started pulling it west. I would have liked to see that, a spectacle of a big black Chevy Silverado pulling a silver bullet down an urban residential street. Go big or stay home was never so verbal. They went big and I stayed home.

After I woke up from my afternoon nap, I drifted from the courtyard to the front porch, from the internet to my Lee Child book, from my cell phone to my glass of Wayne Gretzky red wine - get the puck out of here. Gordo came back from Kennedy’s with a doggy bad for Annie, saw my feet sticking out from my hiding place and climbed up for the beer he knew I would offer. I rounded out the evening going down memory lane, a journey so meandering it sometimes intersected with my own. He left. The cat stayed out and here we are.