1rst Ave

“It’s like a friggin Tom Robbins novel, “ I said.
“The view from up here.
The Five Spot up here, just over there,” I said.
“And Lake Union, The Sound, a panorama,” I said.
She was nodding like she does, and rocking in her flip-flops.
Kind of a heel toe motion, but slower.
“Denny’s, we had breakfast there,” she said.
“And The Stadium, maybe a game today,” I said.
“Baseball,” she said.

We had dinner and walked around downtown last night.
A couple bottles of wine. We were both kinda lit.
I got us a cab back to the room. We can be civil and appropriate when the pressure is on.
It is like all of our actions are slowed down prior to, then contemplated. She is no longer rocking. Her toe-nails appear recently done.

“I think this is a good place, she said. “This place, the view.” “Right here.” she said.
“A fine place,” I said. “Right here,” I said.
“You can keep the car, she said. “The Volvo, you can keep it.
But you are not allowed back in Denver,” she said.
“No more Denver?” I said.
“Not at all,” she said.
“I Keep the car,” I said.
“You keep the car, no Denver no more,” she said. “Texas if you have to.”
“Mariners or Rangers?” I said.

Her feet are planted firmly, and she is squared off at the shoulders.
She is futzing with her phone. She does tenacious well.
I admire this about her, her tenacity.
Cash-flow. This is about cash-flow mostly. She gets pretty wrankled when my choices, my dysfunctions, cut into the cash-flow.

“Get a P.O. box, and I’ll mail your dog to you,” she said.

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