Last feast with Audrey Petty, Wendy Walters, Peter Orner, Richard Siken, all wonderful. One of the best things I've ever done, this. Get thee to the mountain.
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Ah and now the light comes up. Time to pack and drive. See you in Ohio, maybe, tomorrow morning.
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Somewhere slightly lost outside of Cleveland. Well, the dark does that. Nothing worse than road work and traffic at night for night blindness. So I pulled off the highway and drove down a shitty dark busy road until I found an ice cream shop with a restroom and a boy who knew of a Holiday Inn just past the freeway, not my freeway, but one that'll get me back on track in the morning if I go in the right direction. And because I paid more than I wanted to for the room, I felt ravenous--with abandon--so I ordered a salad and a bottle of water through room service so I could fixate on something besides having to park 32 miles from the lobby hall where the only access to the rooms--the elevator--is located in a hotel that doesn't provide help with luggage. The water was expensive. I was grumbly with the girl managing the front desk. She was alone on shift and on the phone when I walked in and though admittedly efficient, not efficient enough nor kind enough to slow my nervous night blind mind. I stood around and waited for her to complete the phone reservation. She made change for two men while I waited, while she talked. "This is a non-smoking hotel," she said into the receiver. I wanted a cigarette then and thought of walking out. But I had no cigarettes. I had no vision. So here I am.
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I miss Bread Loaf.
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