I’ve had two beers in three weeks. It has made my shorts too loose at my waist. I find an old belt and make a mental note to buy a six pack on the way home. The freeway is covered in marine layer and suckers. The same songs are still on the radio.
The days are long. The money is short. Life is that guy with a roll of quarters hidden tight within his fist. You know the one. The asshole. The punches leave you silent. The change is his for the keeping.
The past few weeks have been a lesson in panic. More than one conversation ended with us living from our car. Our credit is crap. Our dogs are on the list of breeds unwelcome. My once sweet income now wet and shrinking, shrinking.
These, we realized, are not the dreams we’ve been looking for. They are the nightmares that caught us. They are flying monkey wrenches and so many bananas in the tailpipe. We fell for it.
But we never gave up.
And so it was we found a place to hang our hats and assorted headgear. I’m fitting it for a shingle. We’ll likely keep our hearts there. The sound you heard was our laughter in the distance.
From our new home I can throw a rock and hit the ocean, but it would probably take me an hour. Twice as long if I use my left. Rocks are easy to find. It would be easier to walk towards the beach and pick a stone at random. Things are where they are for a reason, be it tides or circumstance. My hands are calloused chance.
Seagulls chase every throw into the sea. They know nothing but hope and hunger. I am barefoot in the sand, and I leave my burdens behind for them to feast upon.
There is a home on the horizon and it waits for me.