4:17pm: Wine time, soon. The day slowed then it picked up again. Need one more sale before month ends. How do I get it….
4:18pm: I ask Jackie if he spilled his Ginger Ale, he says “No I didn’t so shahdaaaaaahp…” In a New York or Chicago accent. I know as his father I should be like, “Don’t you talk to me that way, young man!” Or something like that. But I can’t stop fucking laughing.
4:19pm: Writing like this is something I don’t often do, as I hate colons. But I remember that one student who did in my 1A class a few semesters ago and it stuck. Each minute its own narrative.
4:20: Emma’s dialogue lines come down here and echo from the kitchen to my quarantine corner. I smile, love seeing her happy and so in love with everything that she is. I joke and say I’m useless to her, that I’m just an obsessed fan… a joke, but I see it as mobile truth. I follow her, do what she says, and just admire like a fervent fan on a tour bus.
4:21: Zin. All I have. No Chardonnay, no SB. Should always have white wine in the house. Why don’t I.