July 17, 2016:
Thin lady with Starbucks seems amused. There's a sly smile broadening from the corners, as though she knows something I don't. I'm sure she does.
Lots of girls. Sports team, teenage voices, earbuds, braids. Their adults seem disorganized and lost. "I'm going to go to the bathroom," announces one, because apparently it's necessary to coordinate these details. "Can I have two bucks?", wheedles an athlete while her girlfriend removes her bra from under her shirt. "No," says the adult, shaking her head. Taken together they're more interesting than they realize.
I am wired, not in a jittery way, in a good way, like the way I used to be before my life darkened. Could be an artifact of sleep. Could be bupropion doing its thing. Either way. Feels good.