The SLEDE train slit the air.
Corwin pulled out of his office to consider life outside the work center’s broad windows. SLEDEs were almost everywhere but beyond some were serious gray clouds over dark chocolate mountains. Lightning tongues flicked Earth to sky, holding his gaze and propelling him down a might-of-been road. Unbelievable from some perspectives, they were going eighty miles per, forty feet off the ground. Dad and Mom would’ve been impressed. Or depressed. Maybe angry or resentful.
Tall, skinny, energetic with hypnotizing exuberance, Cake bounced into the room. “Alongsides coming up. Me and Elf are hailing eats. I’ll fly and buy. You in?”
“Hell yeah. Just in time. You’re a hero.” Corwin grinned, standing, stretching. “Shift is about over. I’ll take a cheeseburger with it all, and fries.”
“Plant okay? Can’t afford true bee. Or chick. Or anything but plant.”
“Course. And a beer shake?” At Cake’s smiling nod, Corwin specified, “Stout. Alongsides got a good one.”
“Yeah. Well, you know me. Anything dark, ‘kay?”
As Cake descended, Corwin called, “And thanks.”
Cake’s generosity made him happy. Corwin returned to his seat, manifested the office anew, finished admin matters, and logged out. Minutes later, Alongsides docked beside them. Leaning, he looked down and watched Cake leave their SLEDE and hit the stofe. Elf followed three seconds later.
A ping lit Corwin’s Backhand. He shifted attention to the cute guy on the fone. Only after joking with Karlyl, hanging up as his stomach rumbled, did he realize, food hadn’t arrived.
Alongsides was gone. Forty minutes, too.
He flipped the fone to Cake.
No, screw that. Corwing galloped down the spiral. “Cake?” He’d eat down there anyway. Get out of the work area where he’d been for nine hours.
A glance left. No one in the cockpit.
He swung right. No one in group. Kitchen. Dining room.
Nor the patio.
“Cake? Elf?” He tapped their doors.
Tried to enter.
Using the fone, he called, wondering, did he misunderstand? Did they stay on the stofe to eat?
Cake’s number said it was unassigned. Try again.
“Call Elf,” Corwin told his fone.
The fone couldn’t comply, explaining, he needed to be more explicit about who or what he was attempting to reach.
Corwin didn’t bother providing more. This was too much like what had happened with Mom and Dad.
He wasn’t ready to go through that again.
My wife and I were visiting a pop musician. Male, no one real but a dream personality. I didn’t know him but ended up spending time with him by his choice. He then invited me to go on tour with him.
I laughed. He told me he was serious. I protested that I didn’t know anything about touring, concerts, etc., but he didn’t care. He’d make a position for me, pay me, cover my expenses. He thought I’d contribute by talking to him and giving him feedback.
I shrugged and accepted. Nothing ventured, right. We’d be leaving next week. I was pleased.
It was a Friday. My wife and I traveled on to somewhere else as a weekend getaway. We ended up at an opulent, opulent resort. We were a little anxious about the price. I met a man, big and bluff, white, with a graying and thin short burr cut. He weighed over two hundred pounds and stood almost seven feet tall. A barrel-shaped man, he carried his weight well.
He and I began chatting. Turned out he owned the resort and was a wealthy entrepreneur. He was going away on a business trip. Wanted me to accompany him. He thought I’d add a lot to his attendance at the event. I disagreed, citing all the practical reasons why I shouldn’t go. He suggested that I think about it for a while and talk it over with my wife, taking us to a room.
Golden walls and golden pillows dominated this room. We knew it was specially designed for resting, with filtered air and heavy soundproofing. Despite large windows, which showed verdant valley and mountain scenery, outside sounds weren’t heard.
We sat on the pillows to talk but then I needed to pee. I jumped up to find a bathroom but started peeing without control. My pee was weirdly golden. I peed so much that we soon had a two pools with a lively little stream connecting them.
I panicked. “What am I going to do? My pee is everywhere. It’s ruining everything.” As I spoke, the golden pillows absorbed my pee.
My wife and I were a little freaked. What if that’s why the pillows were golden?
We left the room. The entrepreneur asked if I’d made a decision. I told him I’d love to go but I had a previous commitment next week. He replied that he’d have me back for the other trip and that wasn’t a problem.
Note: Yes, I did get up and pee after I awoke – cat wanted in or out, you know…
Saturday’s Wandering Thought
He was thinking about buying an electric vehicle, so he was reading reviews. One car manufacturer proclaimed that their cars can be recharged at any EVgo station. He researched EVgo. They have charging stations in 34 states in the U.S. Going to their website, he searched for their recharging stations in his area. None found.
Back to the drawing board.
Saturday’s Theme Music
“Snow is really coming down now.”
“Yep, it’s really falling.”
That’s how my wife and I talk about the snow. We’re both in our sixties and learned these sharp-edged snow statements from our parents and every other adult we were around in childhood. We’re not alone. If I say one of those statements to friends my age and above, they’ll respond with the other. Like we’re programmed.
It’s Saturday, March 4, 2023. The snow is really falling. As opposed to? Not really falling? It’s 34 F out there. Volume builds up, turning Ashlandia’s Clay Street neighborhood white. But soon as volume diminishes by a flake, it all melts away. Can’t say what’s happening in the rest of the town. I checked the cameras. We have one at the plaza downtown, 2.4 miles north. Snowing there, but not ‘sticking’, to use the meteorological term. Also surveyed the I5 cameras with the town’s exits. Traffic is thin and moving. No one in the chain-up areas. Supposed to snow most of the day, except when it’s raining. High temperature will be 42 F. As you might guess, the sun is as scarce as a Democrat at a Trump rally. White clouds rule.
Sunrise surprised us — not — we were ready — at 6:41 this morning. Daylight’s end arrives shortly after the sun’s departure at 6:04 PM.
The Neurons have Melissa Manchester singing her cover of “Don’t Cry Out Loud”, 1978, in the morning mental music stream. It’s one of two songs playing, taking turns with grave politeness. Other one is “View to A Kill”, Duran Duran, 1985. It’s all about the night’s dreams.
Stay pos. and watch out where the huskies go. My coffee is at hand, reinforcing my low energy levels. Here we go. Time to start the Saturday circus.
Here’s Melissa. Have a strong day. Cheers