It's never too late.

And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way

Weighing my pockets with stones of longing

Especially when those days are Saturday and Sunday.

They always come crawling back

On my way into work I walked by the new gallery that has African drums in the window, and the guy at the desk inside smiled at me. I think he thought I was going to come in. This afternoon when Phil brought up restock he told us about a dream he had last night. Apparently he was rifling through the basket of chocolate letter blocks doing restock and he found all the Js. Phil's thought process: "Wait a minute, there ARE no Js! I must be dreaming!" I suppose this is only hilarious to people like me, who have been working for this man for years and also know that there have never been Js in the alphabet block chocolates.

During this same afternoon, Phil also called me "dearie" and said, "Oh! You're wearing your funky skirt!" in reference to the green corduroy one I rescued from my sister back in high school. I would say he pays more attention to my wardrobe than I do. Yesterday he called me a "team player" and said "You're wearing my funky coat!" I don't really know why he said MY, but I think it's a sign that we have an intimate fashion bond.

Also on Tuesday, some customers were debating whether the face on the chocolate coins was Santa or Susan B. Anthony. It was Benjamin Franklin.

After work, I went back to the gallery. This time a big Nigerian guy was working. I wandered around looking at beaded works and things while he talked to some punk kids about dancing. Then he and I talked for a long time. About everything. He had some incredible philosophies. He thought I was from a big city because of the way I walk. He said I should be sure to be a leader not a follower. I said "I'll work on it," then "I will be," and he said "You are." Somewhere after we had settled the geometric patterns of human behavior by scribbling in his guestbook, the Don Knotts security guard walked in. I first saw this man when the mall caught on fire. Here is a brief physical description: His body is shaped like a stilt. Tall and teetery and breakably thin-looking. His face looks like Don Knotts, with a caricatured pouty lower lip, but he hides behind large 1970's transition-lens glasses. His hair is platinum blond and probably kind of long-ish, but he keeps it cemented back with industrial-strength gel so that it streaks back from his face and forms a curled french twist structure down the back of his head. I've never seen a hair out of place. Even when he was running after that guy who snuck into the Chinese restaurant during the mall fire. It reminds me of early Ken dolls. He walks kind of like a narrower John Wayne, with his hands tucked into his security guard holster. He has long, bony fingers and clownishly long feet compared to his tapered pants and skinny ankles. Kind of like my Grandpa.

So this security guard comes sauntering into Bayo gallery with a smug expression on his face and fondling his night stick, and at first I have this irrational fear that he's going to harrass the store owner because he's black and talking animatedly with a young white girl. But, no, I do not live in a town like that, nor am I a character in a 1950s movie. So the Nigerian man gives him a high five and welcomes him in, and the Don Knotts security guard sits down at the piano and starts playing the craziest version of Clair de Lune that I have ever heard in my whole life. I think I forgot to mention that there is a grand piano in the gallery. But even if I had mentioned it, this all seemed very surreal to me. So this bean pole's banging away on the ivory and ebony and Nigerian guy is rocking out next to him and gestures to me that I should get really close to listen. "Watch the strings!" he says. I spent the next 20 minutes or so just chilling with them, talking about music, and we have a date to hang out 'round the piano again on Monday or Tuesday, because that's the next time we'll all be working.

[I found out later that the Don Knotts security guard goes by "Simply Scottie." He'll be playing at a Reception called "Artists of Uniform" at the gallery after I'm back at school. He will be accompanied by former Captain Dustin Blank of the US Airforce on guitar and Kelsey Ford (parking attendant) in dance.]

I went home and made myself some dinner. Spent my birthday talking to my cat and watching a show on tv about toast.

Backtracking--My birthday with Bayo at 12:35 a.m.
Part two