Thursday, November 11, 2010


    Tired and weary, roll to the side. The clock reads seven o’clock. It’s Sunday. I worked late last night. Would like to rest though I know it wont come.
    Today is the last day of a three-day event at the gallery, I’m scheduled to work elsewhere at four. Off to the gallery, I’m the first one there after the director. People walk in, eyes glance, and bodies turn back to the door. Some make little conversation. One lampshade was sold.
    A rumble comes from my stomach. I need fuel before work.
    Walk into work looking forward the sustenance in hand. There is no place to sit, all seats taken. Sit in back on the floor, it’s almost four. Go to the bathroom to change out of some dress clothes. Start the work day by picking toilet paper off the floor. Walk behind the counter to handle the dishes and stock neglected by my co-workers as my shoes stick a little to the floor.
    How does this place go on? Why am I here? I want to go home to my bed. Tomorrow morning I’ll be in my shop again.

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