It's Show Time, Folks!

I drive - or rather my car drives itself, I am that distracted - through the so-called neighborhood on the way to the Office of the Unwashed Masses. I artfully dodge garbage that has blown into the street, runaway grocery carts, unsupervised toddlers, J-walkers who really are just trying to kill themselves early, and a random car part or two.  It is a smorgasbord of filth and disarray. I suddenly wished for my rental again.

As I round the Popeye's Chicken parking lot to turn into the puddley, uneven, three-ring-circus that is the lot for the Office of the Unwashed Masses, my phone rings. I glance at it as I am not wearing my Bluetooth/earwig that I should be wearing to free up my hands for driving lawfully in this state. That happy little device would have warned me who was calling so I could make an informed decision to ignore it.

But I glance down and see Scott's face smiling back at me. Evidently unfriending someone on Facebook does not remove them or their picture from your contacts automatically. I am going to have to spend some time with my owner's manual to figure out how to make that madness stop.

I answer cheerfully enough.  No need to be a piss ant just because I am skulking into the Office of the Unwashed Masses to file for assistance and got busted by the man who dumped me.  No, no one should feel awkward about that at all.

He seems so pleased to have randomly seen me. I can't say it was unpleasant. Just weird.  Like when you are at a concert with 98,000 people and run into your old roommate.  Or how you can automatically pick out your baby in the nursery without being told which is yours.  Just one of those things.

He of course asks what I am doing in Hell Itself, and I tell him honestly.  He is shocked and appalled for me. He also asks how the court hearing went for my petition to reduce my payment to Lars. I give him the highlight reel version, complete with sound bites from His Honor, and he is stunned nearly speechless. He tells me again that if I ever need anything that he is there for me.

The words cut like a knife. I would never take his money. But I needed him in the Fall and he vanished. I'd be crazy to think of him as a safety net. The reminder is jarring.

I tell him that the parking lot is full of beat up cars so I assume the line in the Office of the Unwashed Masses is at least 40 people deep. I should get going if I don't want to be in there long enough for my car to be stripped for parts.

He tells me it was nice to see me, and to pull over if I see him on my way back out of Hell Itself. I tell him I will, though I know that I won't and he'd never know.

I hang up, gather all the proof of who I am (though I know not myself at this moment) and turn to face the music.