Book Club

I wait at the lights and wonder if I should open a boutique department store in the building that's for lease next to Vintage Cellars. It would be like the one in Mestre where Graziella took us and the sales people wore black Armani suits and white t-shirts underneath with the name of the store printed very small on the upper chest.

At book club we talk about the Carver short stories and try to make the boredom and disappointment specific. To the setting, to those people, to that time in their lives. Maybe it's about regional America. I surpress the "what if" and ask questions that try to narrow it down. Make it rooted in time and place, and his view, and his sad alcoholic life. But in the end what if he's right and that's all there is for any of us: disappointment?

I go home, check the damp concrete shower wall and listen to my i-pod. The Killers sing that everything will be alright. I don't believe them.

This morning as I drive to work there's a council worker in a flourescent vest on the playground swing in a park at Glebe. He's trying very deliberately to go as high as he can. He's smiling.