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Sunday Morning Coming On November 17, 2013

Posted by The Typist in cryptical envelopment, New Orleans, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.

It’s a sad, gray Cowboy Junkies sort of Sunday in a tire-hiss trance on the chicory and La Llave speedball speedway for an early airport run. You couldn’t ask for more charming company than Annabel and Linea, lovely twenty-somethings homeward bound to the Netherlands and Sweden but everyone is subdued by the hypnotic nod of the songs, by the hour, by the crack up of last night’s well-intentioned going away party.

“Did you talk to [her]?” Linea asks on the way to pick up Annabel.

“Texts I’d been better off not replying to,” I say.

More silence, and more on the ride out from [her] house after picking up Annabel.

The mostly empty highway funnels into confusion at the terminal, and they are both leaving on far Concourse D. I slide like the Junkies steel guitar through the maze of taxis and pull up to the curb. I lift out Linea’s single bag, suggest she could give my daughter packing lessons, then hoist Annabel’s book-stuffed duffel carefully to the pavement.

“Three kisses,” Annabel says when I give her the traditional Dutch greeting and farewell. I forget my rehearsed bit of Dutch for goodbye and we both just smile. They begin to roll their bags away and are suddenly bubbly, two young women bound for home. I climb back into the car, distracted enough to miss my turn and find myself on Airline Highway. I take the next light back onto the airport road and toward the city. Gray skies above, wet gray concrete below but I find a tranquility in the quiet music and the unfolding roadway.

There is an early morning apology in my phone, but I decide to deal with that later. I have much to do today, and am thankful for a good reason not to have snooze-bared myself until noon. Just a whiff of the young women’s excitement is a perfect leaven for the gray day and the Junkies roll an easy groove to laundry and an annotated bibliography. There is just a bit of blue visible over the lake at the edge of the clouds.


1. dangermond - November 17, 2013

Did you call her? the lady asked.


The Typist - November 17, 2013

Not yet. It is immensely complicated and I’m trying to spare that brain power for Pound. And I think the stew is not ready yet.


2. Rick - November 17, 2013

There is always the blue, eh, always the blue.


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