F a t h e r L u k e ’s dot Blawg

one year, and ten months ago
I left Santa Cruz, California

I lived in room four oh seven in The El Palomar Inn
on Pacific Ave in downtown Santa Cruz

I call the place “The Pigeon Coop”

Most people never see the building
it is the tallest building downtown

I live there again today

Santa Cruz, California
is home for me

In the last year and ten months:
.

I’ve been a lot of places

I’ve seen a lot of things

I’ve met a lot of people

.
I’ll be writining about all that in the
days
weeks
months
I have left

no one ever knows how long they have

It’s nice to be home.

The train slowed into the station, and stopped.

The conductor walked to the edge of the cab, held the brim of his hat,
and jumped onto the gravel. Then he walked into the station.

Glare from the setting sun reflected back an empty station on the windows of the train.

In the passenger car, Pastor Mc Corkhill sat watching a coin spinning
on a table before him. His forearms rested on his thighs, flattening the crease
of his black pants.

Life moves us, he thought, as he listened to the spin of metal on wood.
Moves us, and moves through us, with little or no matter as to our
preferences. All in all there’s no fairness to it. No fairness at all.
A ride with no choices, and but one final destination.

The silver coin finished its spin, and dropped to one side.

He reached to his shirt cuffs, and gave a little tug. White showed from under black coat sleeves.

He picked the coin up, and gave it another little spin.

Squeezing his eyes narrow against the sun, and letting them relax, his eyes unfocused in the bright light coming in through the window.

The Conductor walked to the train, and grabbed hold a handle,
shiny with constant wear. He pulled himself up, and into the cab.

Looking ahead, up the tracks, he pushed his glasses up to rest on his eyebrows, and rubbed his eyes with his thumb, and finger.

The Conductor let the glasses drop back, and then adjusted their position on his nose, so that the feel was familiarly comfortable. Presently the train began moving again.

It would arrive at its destination soon enough.

Looking in the mirror I see a man with short greying hair, a smirk, and maybe a bit too thin, but with a nice ass.

Hank Williams is crying on the radio in the background that “son - of - a - gun we’re gonna’ have some fun”.

I give a little snort, and I turn away from the mirror to look at the hotel room.

There are wet foot prints on the dark rug; foot powder sprinkled here and there; on an unused bed luggage is neatly packed; and an unmade bed with wrinkled sheets; there is a too small coffee pot with less than a cup of brown left in it.

I sigh. Then I finish getting dressed. Looking through a third floor window outside, Denver Colorado is getting a drizzle of misty rain from a gray sky. I slowly close the curtain against the gloom of another day.

I walk to the door of the room, open it, and reach down to pick up the newspaper. I look at the headlines. Bold type about nothing I can relate to.

I look to the room next to mine. Hanging on the door handle is a privacy notice asking the maids to stay away.

I take it off that door handle and put it on mine. Then I go back into my room, and I shut my door wondering if homeland security will steal the maids away before they get a chance to disturb my neighbor.

- -

Okay for now,
Father Luke