I woke up this morning.
Wearing my favorite socks.
They are not mine. I found them in my house. I think they are my Father’s.
They are white and generic. The perfect texture and length.
I love them.
I walked downstairs.
Put on my shoes.
My face got hit by sunlight.
I drove to Dunkin Donuts.
I ordered a medium iced coffee with almond milk.
The employee handed me the drink.
I took a sip of the coffee.
While looking at a man walking in front of my car.
I drove home.
Stretched my neck.
I went upstairs.
Worked from home.
I spread old journals on the floor.
My Dad picked me up in his car.
We drove to his work.
He picked up the rent-a-car he has been driving.
Since his car got hit in a hit-and-run fender bender last week.
I drove behind him to the rental car store. He dropped off the rental car.
My Dad won Enterprise Customer of the Month.
I drove into Manhattan.
I waited, parked in my car for a 15 minutes.
Made a great Snapchat.
I got to my 7pm improv class.
Took a great photo of my classmates Bill and Nate during break.
Nate took a selfie with his friends.
I drove home.
I got to the toll booths that connects Brooklyn and Staten Island.
I drove in the E-ZPass lane. The car in front of me stopped right before the bar. The bar didn’t raise. I was stuck behind the car for 2 minutes. I switched toll booth lanes. I drove a few feet.
As I approached the booth, I realized I was in the cash lane.
“I’m sorry, I thought this was the E-ZPass lane,” I told the young man toll collector.
“You don’t have cash?” He asked.
“No,” I said. I had nothing on me except my phone and credit cards.
“Can I see your registration?” he asked.
I opened my glove compartment. I found insurance papers. But no registration. I kept looking. After a while, I was just going through the motion pretending to look because I couldn’t find it. I knew it must be somewhere. I felt pressure of him watching me and also the cars waiting behind me.
“I need the license plate number,” he said. “I’ll just go look at it.”
He walked around my car and looked at my license plate.
“Does the money get deducted from my E-ZPass?” I asked.
“No. You need to mail in a check,” he told me.
He was a nice guy.
A great day. The end.