Thursday, October 28, 2004

The Failed Curmudgeon

Two hours of sleep and then three hours of class and then nine hours at the office and finally two beers on an empty stomach with Ada. I broke up work by smoking cigarettes on the fire escape, bone-tired as I watched the city light up and the moon become full. The eclipse started as I headed north towards home, the dark coming on in small increments: a third on Peel, almost half at Pine. I kept looking up at the sky like I did when I was eight and still wanted to be an astronomer or an archaeologist or maybe an astronaut, right in the middle of the sidewalk and in everyone’s way. By the time I got to the CafĂ© it was nearly all the way there; I told the owner and he went outside to look and when he came back he thanked me for telling him and gave me a free beer. Then a whole flood of words with Ada and when she started to cry I made her run to the corner with me to see the moon all gone, and we giggled like we were eight but then it got too cold so we ran back inside. And maybe I’m an idiot but I still feel wonder at things like eclipses and oceans and city lights and trains, even when I’m tired and should be in bed.

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