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I woke up on a couch, a red couch, and there was a rumbling beneath me.  I’ve been in earthquakes before, big ones, but this wasn’t like an earthquake; it came in smaller waves, passing from my feet to my head.  The sun came in unimpeded and strong and even though the AC was on it was hot on my face and my arms and from the walls themselves.

A fleece blanket was thrown off and I sat up, putting the son on my back, dust dancing up in the light.  The room was silent besides the rumbling and something told me I was alone.  I checked all of the rooms, took six dollars off of a dresser and went down to Corbo’s.  They had the bowl of reject cookies out, broken or over-glazed, and I took three on the way in and seven on the way out.  At Presti’s I had coffee, and sat in the big windows and watched the tourists walk by, girls in skirts trying to look attractive, older men in baseball hats and sunglasses, a small white dog dancing on the sidewalk, picking its feet up  quickly from heat or from breeding.