The life and times of Matthew C.

Home. Blue carpet, white walls, blue furniture. I remember that I was here earlier, it feels like 12 hours ago.

Television. "Critics are raving about Star Wars III..." Darth Vader. So close to the moment, the scene I wanted to write about, that ridiculous leap into farce. Grapes of Wrath ending. Ah, another inside joke. First, bathroom.

Relief.

Spurs highlights. I have adamant opinions about the Spurs. No matter. Finding my Optio matters more to life in this wasteland of Central Texas.

Not in the car, checked there earlier. Not buried at my desk. So, in my house, right?

Not under the blue couch cushions. Not buried in the piles of stale dirty clothes. The table, where the ruins of my finances lay xeroxed? No. Nowhere.

When was the last time I saw it? Yesterday, in the office. I was editing the pictures I took at an elementary school where they planted a memorial tree, a live oak, that will outlive the students shoveling the dirt. I took it back to my desk when I was done. Right? No, it is not there.

Did I have it at lunch? No, I looked for it, because it was so hot. Hot, so hot, and no shade in this town without a God. The Golden Boy baking inside, the smell of ever more soiled clothes in my backseat hanging in the heat.

Then Arby's. Chicken bacon swiss. They forgot my lettuce.

Did someone walk in the news room and pluck my camera from my desk so near the door? Or from my car? Or have I misplaced it?

What next, insurance fraud? My renter's coverage would pay for it, if it came out of my car.

At last the end is near.