Evening

I threw the old flowers in the garden, with the idea that they would drop seeds and grow more next year. The garden is nearly dead, definitely dying. The skies are low and grey, and if the sun comes out it's a tease because the air blows cold on your face. It feels like every day is raining, but the sun does come out in between spells.

The banker didn't feel like he trusted me because I'm so fucking fidgety. He did, though, waive the need for a local ID or secondary ID. At the end of our meeting, he was asking me to come hang out with him, telling me he was lonely because he is from Ft. Wayne. His name is John. He's an American, for sure. When he made his attempt to identify with me, he started talking about tailgating. I've never been tailgating, though I've stolen kegs with a truck, and I don't mind if I spend my whole life without knowing what the parking lots at stadiums and sports events hold.

Over and over, I keep thinking about the Einstein quote and her siblings as phrases, "Raffiniert ist der Herrgott, aber boshaft ist er nicht." Life itself is pretty amazing. The bad isn't fun, and in culpability living feels less free and easy, but it feels like it works out. The latinos in Miami tried to tell me a phrase through translation that went, "He may grab you by the throat, but he won't choke you." Or, "If he closes the door, he'll leave the window open." Thank god for open windows, I say, and fresh cooling cherry pies!