Wait until you’ve poked around on the website
Good Friday.
It started at 4:00 PM. Two calls, one, a trusty Sagittarius Apartment Locator called, to see if I was there to show, and two, the boss called, to let me know I could take the rest of the afternoon off.
“What! Maybe you’re out vacationing, but hey, some of us are working, you know,” I hotly retorted. I was just playing, though.
But wait, it got weirder. A recent correspondent has a strange first name. So did the prospective tenant. Then, her boyfriend in tow, he knows a friend, who knows me.
“I’m a Leo, give me a reading.”
“Can’t do that, not on company time..”
Besides, renting apartments are $395 per month, astrology readings are $100 per hour.
So I ambled off at the official quitting time, popped in to a coffee shop, and my favorite Pisces DJ was on the radio in there. Then an Elvis Cap poured an afternoon cup of brew. But it gets better, swung by the post office and some unnamed figure was hollering out her window, through rush hour traffic, “Hey, Kramer!” And a quick wave. No idea.
I’ve suggested before that Texicalli, down the street on Oltorf, is a good place to eat. Blessedly, there was no live music Friday night. But the food was – as always – tasty and filling. And for dessert? A huge, thick, creamy shake. I know I’ll regret that later, but at the time, it was just too good to pass up.
Conspiracy Theory
Just because circumstances can place me in Dallas on a fateful day in November, that doesn’t mean I buy every little theory about black helicopters. The best one I’ve heard so far:
Check it out: the bombing in Iraq leads in a straight line from the seaport to the oilfields. All they have to do now is come back, lay a pipeline, and just push the dirt back over the trench that the Coalition has already – conveniently – dug.
Coincidence? I think so. But that just might be me.
