Admirals Club

Admirals Club.  Dad going through a USA Today.  Cup of coffee going lukewarm in front of me.  I just sped through a sudoku and it didn’t blow up.  The chair I’m in is leather, comfortable.  Thoughts of the dog are stressing me; have been since before I left the house.  I’ll feel much better when my wife returns to the house tonight, back from a trip of her own; lets me know everything is alright.  Also, rain today.  Gray day, Gray Davis.  Remember him?  Total recall.  The e-mail that never was.  Unknown sender, no subject, blank body, unsigned.  A friend is to let the dog out mid-day but problems with the front-door-knob plague me like a vice.  Is the roof keeping out the rain?  I rain onto paper, letting everything out.  Grip on my temples easing.  Hoping there aren’t any leaks; nothing I can do about them now.  American Airlines, AMR.  Flying in the rain.  My father went to use the computer.  When he’s back he’ll tell me if the market’s up or down.