Working Nine to Ten (13 hours, not 1)

The day was arranged like the interior of the sardines can; it felt more manageable to digest all the crises that threatened to spill the emotional equilibrium (and not in a repress & deny sort-of-digest, but in a get-over-yourself, look-deep, select-a-meaningful-response & move-on kind of way). The moon hung, haunted and orange behind smoky shear clouds, exhausted and grateful, as I drove windows-open in the thin rain, driving back down Cleveland Avenue.