Exile
Playgroup was at our house today.
This disrupted my well-tuned, tremendously repetitive (and enjoyable) life, and I found myself at the Schlotzsky’s drive-through at 11:15, unable to go home unless I wanted to confront anarchic hordes of pre-schoolers.
After I got my sandwich, I decided to just park and eat. As I slowed down, though, I saw them. The parking lot undead. Car sleepers. Sweating, mouths wide open, their 1987 station wagons filled with yellowed newspapers and candy wrappers, they are the Robert Oppenheimer’s of sleep. They could drive their wagons onto the E3 convention floor and be asleep in two minutes or less.
The first time I parked, there were four of these people clustered around me, and fearing some kind of weird zombie remake of The Birds, I decided to move to a more waking section of the parking area. There I ate my sandwich in relative safety.
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