January 24, 2015

Strode out on the porch at 4 AM. The water was dripping and splashing in the downspouts like living things.

My time with Z was the highlight of Friday. I did practically nothing else, now that I think of it. The awful shadow of futility kept me from working, though it seems to have lifted this morning, so here I am. The things I hoped for have not come. The things I dreaded have not come.

Chit chat among my long-ago classmates reminded me that Pretty Boy Floyd had a hideout on the corner of Crystal and Income, which I passed every day of sixth grade. Very cool. He was arrested in Akron for killing a policeman. This was years before I was born, but the glamor lingered.