Mock Turtle Soup

It is difficult to express the freedom contained within a full tank of gas. On Monday, I am headed down to Virginia to spend a few days with my grandmother, the changing leaves and the autumnal night sky. While it is true that there are trees in this godforsaken state, they do not exist in great swathes here nor are there any mountains to thrust their hued leaves into view. As for the night sky, I suspect it does exist somewhere directly above, but the urban sprawl and its incumbent streetlights prevent one from catching a glimpse of what may or may not spread out beyond their hazy glow. That said, I’m mostly looking forward to seeing my grandmother.

I have a neighbor who, six days a week, is an early riser. On Saturdays though, on my way in from work, I reach her newspaper before she does. It is usually lying in the middle of the hallway, just far enough from the doorway to require one to actually step outside of the apartment to reach it. So every Saturday I move the paper closer, to directly in front of her door. It strikes me that she probably believes she has a different delivery person on Saturdays.