Sitting in my truck alongside the Miller street tram line. Waiting for a coffee. Thinking of Max as I do so often and grinning on his move toward being the central theme of this blog. Thinking how he took the 112 to work. Staring out the window with tired, glum eyes. Wondering how it might end and how he could escape the cycle of the same routine, the same fatigue, the same view traming through and the gloom of another day gone on the return leg only to be sure the same again lay in store tomorrow and tomorrow. And I think of him that last night I saw him alive. He asked when I'd return. I told him I didn't know. Felt bad and added, "It'll be soon though man"
It wasn't soon enough and and when I did return a year later it was for his funeral.
No comments:
Post a Comment