Sunday

Coffee, heavy food, deep introspection. Silence, most of all the silence. The city that caters to students. It knows we need silence. No buses, low traffic. It's never said out loud. There's no sense in trying to have an economy today. Church bells? I never notice.

But where I come from, It's always quiet. It doesn't carry the meaning, the common understanding, of the quiet here. Blue collar types, they have their days off whenever. They understand weekend, they understand Sunday, but not really. The social functions, the drinking, the work, the drinking, it can come at any time.

So my mother calls on Sundays. It's a good day to call. It's the sabbith, a holy day, a family day. But I want silence. I have my radio at a low buzz. Prairie Home Companion rerun, baseball game, nothing too challenging. Than she calls. "How's dad?" "How are the dogs?" "No, I haven't talked to my sister. Why would I?" "No, there is no special someone, once every few weeks there is a random someone. One was 19 and liked it when I..." "how's grandpa?"

And than it is done. The only sign of hangover is a brain like cement. It will take all day for me to organize what must be done tommorrow.