Apocalyptic Thought

It took me three seconds to recognize her. The conference room is full. She’s at the head of the table, briefing me and my colleagues on her business goals for the project. It’s straight, with a clear goal, but that doesn’t matter at all. She’s here. That’s the only thing that matters. She concludes the meeting than stands up. We all stand with her, following her lead to our seats. I snatch up her business card, the one she passed along to all of us with the agenda and project objectives, but something’s weird. There’s ink on the back of mine. It’s a phone number, a time, and a name of a bar. # It’s been 10 years since we spoke to each other, yet I sit in this small, but full bar with drinks that cost the same as full meals, people wearing casual clothes more expensive then my suit. If I cared, I would be focused on how much I stand out, but her being here, leading the project I’m working has still shocked my system. The odds are insane, like I need to pick up a lotto tick

Nobody tells you how to grow old- there’s no manual or any examples with all the details you need. It just happens. You have to figure out how to deal with it. I had a pretty, good plan- no, a great plan. I had a flawless plan on how to age well, but perfect doesn’t really exist. I couldn’t plan for everything that happened. Tuesday- it’s a random Tuesday since I’ve retired. The stew I mix in front of me bubbles. I’m not sure what that means. Maybe it’s too hot, or maybe it should be bubbling. I haven’t received much instruction, but it’s been like that since I got here- not this morning, but since I started volunteering. There’s a smell I don’t quite understand. For some reason, I do the unthinkable and try some. Whatever flavor was there, it’s gone now, watered down to probably make it more consumable. I put the spoon back down and now see a brown tint in streaks of the pot, and for a moment I realize why the world puts so much sugar in everything. # The next day I return not

Her hair . My gaze is hard and long- awkward even. I don’t break it, well…I don’t want to, so I keep it there, exponentially increasing my creepiness factor. I’m not a fan of spooking strangers, even beautiful ones, but  the dirty-old-man in me quietly heckles, forcing me to bring my camera to my eye. I put my disturbing habit to work. It’s the one job where you can stare at whatever you want, and not freak people out. - I knew I was going to be at this event all day, so in the beginning I took pictures almost at random. The newspaper wanted general shots of people to compliment a write up of the charity run, but I always like to go a little further than my pay grade would allow. At an event like this, I could easily take a 1,000 pictures. The ratio for great pictures tends to be roughly 100:1, so it’s alway best to be safe. My relationship with SD cards grew since I picked up a camera. I never usually get so weird on the job, but my first great shot was of her. She was in a

Her hair . My gaze is hard and long- awkward even. I don’t break it, well…I don’t want to, so I keep it there, exponentially increasing my creepiness factor. I’m not a fan of spooking strangers, even beautiful ones, but  the dirty-old-man in me quietly heckles, forcing me to bring my camera to my eye. I put my disturbing habit to work. It’s the one job where you can stare at whatever you want, and not freak people out. - I knew I was going to be at this event all day, so in the beginning I took pictures almost at random. The newspaper wanted general shots of people to compliment a write up of the charity run, but I always like to go a little further than my pay grade would allow. At an event like this, I could easily take a 1,000 pictures. The ratio for great pictures tends to be roughly 100:1, so it’s alway best to be safe. My relationship with SD cards grew since I picked up a camera. I never usually get so weird on the job, but my first great shot was of her. She was in a