At The House of the Convalescent Muses
We take our meals in the greenhouse at the long bench. Tonight marks the end of a lot of work and we are very happy to have a ceiling of stars. The high curved windows are tinted with a twinge of blue and all stars light filtering down twinkle a precious indigo. High and bright lights accompany the food, which has come with beer, and is greasy. We must be growing firmer if the fare is like this.
I think my dad had a hard time with retirement. In the five months since stepping away he’d grown increasingly interested in me. I couldn’t tell if it was out of boredom or guilt for not having been more involved in my life up to that point. And though I never felt abandoned by him, it was nice—albeit strange—to get to spend some time with him.