Cold Pizza for Breakfast

There's been this mysterious white car with Maine plates parked in our lot since Friday. Yesterday, Steve put a note on the windshield asking them to move it, or else. Steve's been all preoccupied with the car. 

This morning, I, enhanced, late, with coffee, walk down the alley to the office back door, a two-minute-long walk that gives me the opportunity to watch Steve park, adjust, repark his car (a boat-like late-model Benz), into exactly the same position it started in. Sometimes I think Steve is enhanced.

I'm pretty focused on his obsessive maneuvers behind the wheel, but I do notice that the mystery car is no longer occupying its illegal space. I say good morning and ask him how he is. Steve says 'You know, okay.' I say 'At least the Maine car is gone!' Steve points, straight ahead, to a point that would be directly beside...oh, yes. There is the Maine car. Literally five feet to my left. 'Oh,' I said. 'It's just moved'. He goes 'I had to call the police', still all cranky about it, but at least I made him laugh. Then I trip up the stairs on my way to the door. 

Then I realize that I'm wearing a black-and-white striped top and a black skirt. Yesterday I wore a black-and-white striped dress. I feel like this is something to avoid, although I do it all the time. It used to make my brother laugh, my fondess for dressing like a mime.