Paying the neighbor kid to blow the leaves off our sports court. Awakening to the glow of a laptop, hours before sun. Before, I used to just sit here in the morning, letting the coffee sink in and thinking about my day.
Down Utah Avenue where I work, the cranes standing idle. Boxcars stacked in rows by the shipyard, sparrows lined the razor wire fence around the dumpster behind the bakery. The homeless, who camp in a white Econoline van: two men in their 40s with beards, sunglasses, baseball hats. They’ve been there since summer.
In my office, heat maps, cost estimates, pre-read materials. My boss pulled me aside yesterday with a yellow file folder, asked, got a minute? Took me into a conference room and said don’t worry, it’s good. We bonused.
The fiscal cliff, on NPR. Emails from my dad encouraging me to write congress. Allegations against a high-ranking official over the West Virginia miner’s catastrophe, two years ago – just now coming to light.
The band Tamaryn, their second album is a trippy stew that warms the insides this time of year. Good with coffee in the dark, in the morning. Carry that scent with me the rest of the day.
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Categories: Corporate America, Diary
Bill Pearse 
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