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Indian Summer Baby

I've had the apartment to myself all week. When I was not at work I counted the minutes. I spent a far too large amount of time simply staring at some object, mostly a wall or window or the blue AV1 on the TV screen. Found out on Monday that I no longer work at Turtle Creek. They gave me the boot, (the roots, the radicals). I am now Mr Manager of the tiny store on Wilkins Ave., in Squirrel Hill. This tiny store, more than half the size of my current store, does nearly double the business. So, in the retail world, and a lovely, caring world it is, this is a good move. And I hope that it is. All I can think of right now is leaving a store I know and have under control, where I know the employees well and a lot of the customers. Oh, and I live less than 10 minutes from.

And I find this out on Monday, the very day Emily left me, for another man, a boner working on the company dime, doing 40 km/h in a white Plymouth rock, spearheaded for the new world, for religious freedom, for Indians: Indian Summer Baby.