smooth

GRAVEL

3.  This morning coming back from Bette's Oceanview Diner, I paused near the intersection at 7th and Jones; a squirrel hopped onto a telephone pole near my head, paused, darted around, then spiraled up the pole just to prove it was a baby. I don't know what to call a baby squirrel. I backed away so it could come down, and in a fidgety and flighty way it regarded me with squirrel baby contempt and proceeded to make its way across a telephone wire to a tree half a block away. A circus act. My roommate prides himself in being angry, crazy and kind; he's none of these. He's a person, same as me. He tries to infuse himself into my soul. When I got home, he said, "If I gave you some money, would you use your car to get bags of bird seed?" all innocent like. I was regarding him same as I regarded the baby squirrel. A high-wire act. "No," I said. "I knew you were going to say that!" he said, pretending to butt his head against the heater, coming up short all goat-like not far from the thermostat. Very theatrical. "It's like hitting a stone wall." I regarded him with interest and later replaced the "No!" still reverberating in my head with —Someone else. Bit by bit I'm blasting that wall to smithereens. He also prides himself in "following the light." I don't follow any light. I am a light.