postcard: Tulsa
Romulus, the happier traveler of the two in the car. He sleeps in the carrier with the latch open and creeps out to have a look when we stop for gas and food. He nosed around the hotel room surfaces and romped in the tub all morning, talkative, adventurous, calm--clearly much happier to go with me than to stay behind. Which is why I always get bitten when I come home, I understand now.
The vet says he's lost a pound. I don't see it.
We're in a Super 8. Had to give up driving when the first road construction of the day turned narrow single lane concrete divider and cone with traffic headlights blinding me from the other side in the night rain glare. Now we're off again.
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Listen, she left him for an arms dealer. You couldn't write this kind of absurdity and be believed. I'm just saying, if you're thinking of me, send some good vibes his way on behalf of his kids. He hasn't seen his kids in month and half and has only spoken with them 3 or 4 times on the phone in conversations where they're either too scared to talk or they break down crying and she hangs up the phone. God alone knows what they're afraid of. I'm afraid to guess. Nobody's kids should be that kind of sad or that kind of scared.
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