I predicted that I’d see my first centipede yesterday and late last night, as I was walking home from Asher’s house, one scurried across my path like a black cat. I stopped and watched him for a moment, with his zillion trillion legs, and wondered how many of his brothers and sisters I’ll meet this year.
The night was a good one, filled with happy dogs and belly laughs, and bookended by a six mile walk. A new flower was in bloom last night and the air was filled with its summersweet scent and when I closed my eyes, I could almost smell the sea salty air of the summer of 2003; a summer filled with promise, like this one.
And then I slipped in someone’s vomit.
And that’s Madison for you. One minute you’re on top of the world, the next minute you’re stepping in some nineteen-year-old’s puke. There’s part of me that never wants to leave.