Heading somewhere; going nowhere.

Not much can be accomplished while waiting for my career boxes to show up on my doorstep. Sleep in. Coffee. Laundry. Sounds like Sunday. Feels like Sunday.

It's not Sunday.

What are you doing home, vacation? My roommate inquires.
Something like that. I was fired yesterday.
Fired? Like you lost your job?
I did lose my job.
But weren't you working crazy hours? Her head tilted from left to right, like she was debating whether I was pulling a fast one on her.
You were never around.
Now I am.
Good. That's going to be good.

L train, 1st Ave stop.