“Jaime spent the whole day browsing the antique store and left with just one thing.“
that’s all I have to go on. a fifteen-word voicemail. to produce an exoneration in a felony prosecution.
by “the entire day” did hassan mean the daylight hours, which here in the north span the time between ten in the morning and two in the afternoon? or did he mean the time that jaime was awake; that is, from him getting out of bed until the time he goes to bed again? he gets out of bed, gets dressed, goes to the store, browses, buys or steals, goes home. puts on his winter pjs and goes to bed. i’ll add in time for food and bathroom breaks. and a bath and shower. and some time for him to deal with that thing. wrap it as a gift or bury it or whatever. Another thing is, english is hassan’s second or third language. does he understand the nuances of the word browse? does he understand that in this situation, browse jaime would be looking over things for sale in a leisurely and casual way? maybe jaime wasn’t leisurely and casual. maybe he was furtive. does hassan even know what furtive means? probably. he knows a lot more big words than i do and that’s only counting english. who knows how many words he knows in those other languages? he’s rather well-off as well. i can picture him browsing … One more drink and I’ll go to bed and think this whole thing over.
Walking through this young forest on a game trail, I breathe deeply. The path beneath my feet is soft. Light from a friendly sun, filtered through green canopy, dapples my face. The variety of trees here is amazing. Beech, tulip, oaks and hickories, other hardwoods. An understory of hornbeam, flowering dogwood, strawberry bush. Animals of all kinds thrive in this forest. That’s the word. Thrive. An environment in balance but evolving through vigorous growth. I count my breaths as I walk, to clear my mind. To let in the positive vibrations that envelope me. Life is good in Antartica.
zzz … oops. fell asleep eating pizza with mozzarella in a palazzo by the piazza, below the outdoor mezzanine on the terazzo by the jacuzzi, listening to jazz, guzzling a big fizzy drink with a swizzle, like through a nozzle. head a little muzzy. a little fuzzy. miles davis, what a whizz. what a whizzbang! dazzles me! bedazzles me! jazzbo! huzzah! razzamatazz! so snazzy. no razzberries from this fan! but what a spazz i am. not scuzzy, just always in a tizzy, abuzz, jazzed, bumfuzzled, then fizzling out … like now. the drink did it, not my fault. i awake to be razzed by my puzzled spouse, circling like a buzzard above me, with her quizzical expression, frazzled by my behavior, her hair frizzy, she’s ready with a blizzard of grizzly scolds, or she’ll drizzle them, and her a chazzan and then a hazzan! treats me like a zyzzyan. can’t muzzle her or nuzzle her. zzz.
Does writing excuse watching? 