Red car accident and the beauty supplies order will be written by tomorrow. A handful of long-term employees and an older guy named Phil. Mustache, bulk bins, wooden shelves and a café that leans into lentils. For all the blue tile I’d have assumed this was a fish wholesaler.

Cigarettes out back and a plan for the future. No kids. One dog. Early morning couch.

Wander through the hallways of time. Wonder through the hallways of time.

Spark.

A town the size of a nickel.

We’re back here practicing and it’s evident to us. The words don’t flow. Everything feels forced. Yet somehow we seem locked up on a particular memory tied to a particular place in time. Nothing cemented in place. Nothing tethered to an outcome. Simply a window into a couple of years that have a lot of unknowns and what might have beens.

Onward.