A stiff wind that hits you sideways, tree detritus scattered in the road, navigated the vehicle to the side of the sinkhole, which itself grows by increments maybe fifty feet from the for sale sign, rain falls occasionally with drops the size of deficits, kissed my wife, my kids goodbye, ready to board a flight from Chico to San Francisco. At the tarmac, hand on my hat, night still does its job and tattles on the planet as it revolved upon its axis, huddled within the boarding gates, lit by fluorescents, a garish yellow haze, plexi-windows rattles like the skin of a beaten drum only God has no rhythm.

Yes, embarkation, destination Tallahassee. A place in Florida, perhaps a place in my future: who knows? Just enjoy the ride if eleven and a half hours of air ports and planes can make that possible. I’ll try not to think about how much is riding on this interview. “Whatever’s coming, there’s no place else to go.” Bruce said that. So relax, Joe, be who you are and just let “X” equal “X.” Miss Anderson said that.

By the way… I really do want this job.