May 27, 1997 Tuesday
I write this as night begins to progress. By the light of my desk lamp these words are scribbled into my notebook. The library opened for a while. My newest detective book is alright, on a low simmer I suppose, but I have yet to buy in. I give it another twenty pages. Elton John’s opening number from Yellow Brick Road, the sweeping instrumental “Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding” plays as rain softly pelts the rooftop. There is something very relaxing about rain at night, are you lay in bed and listen. Before going to bed myself, I remember to do my exercises on the floor. That is something I do not like about summer vacation–it is too easy to slip from maintaining your body when you can continuously say “Later.” Believe it or not, I am in one of the best conditions of my life, and I plan to stay that way.
Wait. In the distance there is faint rumbling from the tracks, replacing the sound of rain for a moment. In the distance its whistle calls out.