I had a decent on-time record this week, not counting other folks’ accidents. When brake lights burn red in lanes far ahead, I know I’m in for it. This turned out to be a hit-and-run that left two folks riding a motorcycle with minor injuries in the right lane of the Bay Bridge’s western span.

A couple of times walking around South of Market, I’ve done a double take seeing this mural of the statue of liberty horizontally aligned, less lifting a lamp beside a golden door and more disorientingly tired, tempest tossed and yearning to breathe free against a skyline dedicated to verticality.

It’s probably time to get the car washed again, or find my way over to a gas station with one of those drive through add-ons to a fill-up. This is not a post where I’m growling about the price of gasoline, but it might be one where I’m glowing about a recent unexpected car-insurance rate drop, heh.

Working weekdays the panic creeps in once I’ve gotten off the scale and begin dressing by my chair under desk light. Did I drink the water on the counter? Have I packed everything in my bag? Is there just enough time to allow for interstate dreamers clutching their steering wheels like teddy bears?

I cracked myself up at my work desk looking back in retrospect at last week’s Hiero Day. How has so much time passed since this music came out? Weren’t those folks on stage just getting airplay a minute ago? What an unlikely gift it is to have been present back then, and to be present with it.

Before driving into the city for today’s stories, I dropped A. off at her gig and got onto the main drag out of town. At an intersection, a dozen motorcycles waited on the light to cycle to green. I couldn’t stop to ask which way they were headed, or why one of them was wearing a bunny head helmet.

I heard my local closed up today. Was it still my local if I hadn’t managed to stop by in weeks, or a couple of months? Of course. That’s how language works. I played gigs there, ordered the bacon hard fried, drank beer back when I drank beer, switched to coffee and kombucha, listened to the music.

A full day, with errands before getting my teeth checked after last week’s shenanigans, then randomly stopping by a barbershop to get my edges trimmed. Later, I walked over to the store for a battery replacement for our scale before going around yonder past this bench on our building’s far side.

I should’ve kept my eyes closed during today’s ride over Potrero Hill. I kept getting these glimpses of the valleys around it, and piecing together the resulting panorama felt worse than seeing it all at once, most likely because I was in motion, but not behind the wheel like last September’s trip.

There’s no well I rely on so deeply and richly as the one where the words come from. I do what I can to feed it, treat it like it can be recharged and not irreparably drained in some verbal crisis or etymological extinction event. I could probably read more, and yield to fewer distractions too.