Some May Days Pay

I'll put it to you gently: it was a placid payday of untroubled tranquility. Up in the still noon-blue skies, a cloud in a shape like this: $

You could just make it out. I walked around downtown eating from a small sack of marshmallows, and I was wearing my shades. I'd forgotten all about the little spongey capsules in my ears, from the factory, which had gently expanded to the shape of my ear canals.

I could hear myself and my only thoughts were now and then that I wasn't thinking about much. And then the thought of how these things stick out of my ears a bit and make me look like I'm owned, or like I'm an android prototype. I took 'em out, that was all right then too.

Car was nice and warm. I glided into the telephone wire streets to go pick up the cash (the 'flow' if you will) and afterwards decided to stop at the Salvation Army. I was alone, and usually prefer to have a friend with me there, but they were all still at work in their offices, factories, etc. Oh well. *shrug*

I had my camera, I forgot and then remembered (credit J-JM for that Gertrude Steinish phrase, long ago.)

Is this not a sad, dull picture?


A child would brighten up, approaching. Maybe.


Again, maybe.


I asked to take pictures inside, and told the British clerk that I'd be sure not to take pictures of any people.

He asked for what purpose?

I said, for myself. A hobby.

He said he'd have to call the office. He dialed the phone and as it was ringing, handed it to me. I looked at him, trying to convey something like "I've never seen one of these, am I supposed to talk into it?"

There was no answer and I handed it back to him. "Thanks, anyway".

I began to 'shop' but the place is almost vacant of goods these days.

He came back with the President of Salvation Army on the line. Maybe in New York City, I don't know. A woman I was tempted to address as "sister". She asked me why I wanted to take pictures and again I said, simply for myself, as a hobby. I told her that I'd be sure not to take pictures of any people.

She said, "Ok, but please don't take pictures of any people. That may make them uncomfortable."

"Thank you ma'am."

"You're welcome!"

"Shall I hand you back over to the clerk,then?" I asked, suddenly and involuntarily adopting a London Eastside accent.

"Oh. Yes, please."

Then I found these!




These are from the series of history books I poured over from third grade to whenever I started using their inside covers to clean out stems and seeds. Ahhh, father in heaven! Three of my books! 50 cents a piece!

They were published in 1962. For crying out loud, Grandmother Bess bought them when I was a year old. I guess maybe they were my brother David's then, but I was the one who looked at them all day for years. (And I was the one who lost them in a basement storage fiasco slo mo.)



I don't know. I doubt donations are down but it can look like it in some corners. Last year an Eclipse staff member, myself, and seven housemates made a midnight delivery of goods (sacks of donated clothes) because we knew in the daytime they'd turn us away.

A shortage of picture frames, then.