“I heard you’re off the 7.”
Somehow the secret’s gotten out. I wasn’t going to say anything here, because I have over a year’s worth of 7/49 stories stockpiled and nobody reading the blog would’ve noticed I was driving anything else… but Metro’s worse than your grandmother’s bridge club. Rumors are always flying, and heaven help you if you actually do something radical. You’ll never hear the end of it.
They’re already joking about it at the base. A friend was ribbing me today: “it even happened to Nathan! He’s ‘just gonna take a short break at North Base.’ How many times have you heard that before? They never come back! They neeever come back!”
It would be so easy to say I got tired of the people. Of course he did, we’d say, nodding. How convenient. We could relax, comforted by the idea that there’s nothing left to learn and therefore nothing to pay attention to, that irony is king and that positivity, on a long enough timeline, gets bulldozed.
On the street, certain things have to be simplified. There’s a briefness to the interactions. All relations between men and women, for example, are suddenly either marriages or sibling relationships. Most of my friends are women, and when any of them come out for a bus ride with me, they have to tolerate other passengers telling us how badly we need to get married. Stuff like that.