When I actually allow myself to sleep in, I find it impossible to do just that. This morning I woke up at 3 A.M. and could not fall back to sleep, I even tried to count sheep. Deciding to make something of my day off instead of sit in bed trying to go back to sleep all day, I got out of bed and laced up my shoes for a run. I had plenty of time after waking up so early so I opted for a long run. First, a jog around the lake and a stretch to warm up, then I ran around the park on the trails and looped Quincy to Popular to Benson to Sunset a few times.
After my run, it was around five o'clock and I went up for a quick shower before breakfast. I went to the coffee shop only to find an unopened store and a group of people waiting the "twenty-four" hour shop to open, I didn't know there were more than 24 hours in the day. Since it was still early in the day, I decided to wait for to get coffee and breakfast. As I looked around, I recognized a small middle-aged man whom I'd seen walking early in the morning before. I walked over and introduced myself.
We talked about the how the coffee shop was closed and he mentioned that he was the local detective and also owned the antique shop downtown. I, of course, joked about how it was a mystery that a 24-hour coffee shop was closed and he laughed. We kept talking until a bit before seven when he had to go open his shop, he said he'd be glad to see me again and to come around the shop sometime. I don't really know if antiques are my thing though, we'll see.
At seven, a bus tried to turn right onto Popular and stalled out. At eight thirty the bus was still there and the coffee shop was still closed. I left shortly after to find breakfast someplace else. So far my day of has not been all I thought it could be.
My route remained uneventful until I got to the coffee shop. I had an envelope to deliver. Apparently, 24-hour just doesn't mean anything anymore, since several people were waiting outside the closed building. The group was mostly adult men, but there were a couple of teenage girls, too. Most of them looked pretty reserved and sullen, but a couple of people were talking. They stopped and stared at me. "Uh, hi," I said. "Is the shop closed?"
ReplyDeleteOne of the girls finally responded, "Yeah. Why?"
"I've got mail for the people who run the place. Could one of you possibly give it to them when they finally open up?"
No one said anything. They all just stared at me. Me with my obnoxious shopping cart full of mail.
Cool, guys.
"Well, alright then," I said, and pushed through to stuff the envelope under the door.
The staring was getting to me now; it was just a tad too much like my nightmare.
I started walking away down the street, and broke into a run after just a few yards.
While he grumbled about forgetting his trench coat, a stranger walked up to him. He was an average looking man, whose rough features suggested that he worked long hours, probably at a low paying job. He introduced himself as one Robin Spartacus Moore, bowling attendant. ...
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