Punch Drunk

I got the new bike, but it was delivered rally not included. Same stinky van, same work schedule, just a slighter lighter payload in the rear cabin and a slightly heavier one in the cockpit.

I watched from the window of my 4th floor balcony room overlooking the Gulf of Mexico in Destin, FL and envied the young men deploying the chaise lounges for the day. Carrying them two by two, they popped them open and dropped them into the sand, ready for more privileged asses to fill them. I laced up the serious black Rockports, checked the ink fill on my marker set, and headed towards the basement for a day of meetings- miles and years away from the clenched fist resolve to make a difference that lead to this moment. Dry bran muffins and tired-eyed social work executives awaited me, so no longer could I linger.

It’s a hell of a thing to complain about, but growing up is a hell of a thing to do to a kid.


5 Responses to Punch Drunk

  1. Sometimes the little kid needs to consult with the grownup about this little turn of events, and how it didn’t come out quite like the dream?