Line of thought

Sitting on a bench on the Martinez fishing peer. Feet on the railing, green river waves blown up by strong wind. Looking out across the water in E's direction; she's probably not home, working.

Sitting on this bench, sun light on the back of my neck and the wind blowing my hair and clothes around, I recall sitting here with Kim not long ago. Holding her hand, feeling her hand hold mine. So familiar, so recent, so present. What did she wear? Oh, yes, always crushed black velvet tops and pants. There's a big pile of them in the garage by the dryer wrapped up in an old comforter, waiting for disposition. That comforter is awful, I must throw it out. I couldn't give it to charity without washing and that would be a bulky pain. Oh, no, it's the day before the annual we'll-take-anything trash pick-up day, I forgot until just now. And I have other, more important plans for today.

Sitting on a bench on the Martinez fishing peer. Feet on the railing, green river waves blown up by strong wind. Looking out across the water in E's direction; she's probably not home, working.
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