I’m almost finished reading Papillion. Gavool is planning on sending me another book, but I’m not to know what this time. He’s written a note in soft pencil on the title page. It’s a hard worn book. Tattered cover and broken spine. These pages have been halfway around the world and back in a well worn knapsack. It’s possible to tell by looking at it that it’s been tucked into the pocket of cut-off jean shorts for too long. Loved books are sweet to have. *chuckles* I’ve fallen asleep beside it more than I have with him.
There were gunshots and fire outside the building painfully early this morning. My only complaint is at the time. My window was wide open and the sound filled my room. Crack. I jerked from dreams to see a hard flash on my wall. I remember that sound. Shotgun maybe, but the light? Too much light. I was up in less then a second, my hand automatically reaching for my glasses and slipping them on as I leaned to my window. There was a cloud of smoke drifting over from the park on the corner, but my modesty prevented me from sitting in the window alcove and perhaps seeing better. Time for a shirt. Slip it on over my head and toga the sheets. I can always put them back in the morning. Another hit and flash. I’m not about to go investigate at five:thirty in the morning. Someone running but away, no more information that that. I sat for five minutes more until the chill began to bite into me, then I fell back to bed.
My neighbourhood makes me happy. I only wished I’d been in the park.