Here we are again, sitting by the window. On top of some hotel in someone else’s city. Seems we always end up here, alone. I’ve pried open the safety that keeps the window shut so that I can hear the coming storm. Part of me wants to jump; the other part doesn’t want to miss the thunder.
The rains come down harder and I can see the people scurrying to their cars, afraid to get wet. The sky has gone white and the beach has disappeared into the haze created by the wind and rain. The eternal hum of the room’s air conditioner is barely audible now beneath the drone of the rain and the rolling of the thunder. The occasional crack of lightning accents the storm.
Silly me, I sit here during a beautiful storm, in a nice room with half a bottle of Crown left, pounding away on the keyboard about how bad things are. Complaining has become as easy to me as breathing. I’ve become numb to the constant travel at work and I’m barely recognizable when I return home. Maybe someone other than me should be complaining.
I really should close that window though, the rain is coming in now. I really should stop bitching about how bad things really aren’t. Well, maybe I’ll stop after another pour from the bottle. Yeah, things always look better after a few pours.
The storm has broken and moved on. The rain is still coming down pretty hard but it’s hard to see through the sunlight that has stolen through the clouds. I found myself dozing in the warm rays as I contemplated the window screen. When wet, its shadow is a matrix of tiny dark and light squares. Some going dark as rain fills them and others going light as the water drips out of them. The pattern is in constant flux and I can’t help watching it even though I know there’s no pattern to discern from it.
I’ll get up in a few minutes and Joe and I will go grab a steak. In the morning, I’ll be anywhere from Miami to Orlando. I’ve got the rest of this bottle to see me through the night and the Yankees are at home against the RedSox. I guess it’s not too bad.
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