A small smile

December 2

Dear Wichita,

My insomnia is back, the fitful sleep and the unwelcome sunrise seeming to mock me and my futile attempts to rest. I don't know if you knew I was a periodic insomniac. I didn't sleep last night after I got home and I'm wide awake after my shift at the bar. It's like I'm on speed again, just waiting for the crash to come. It will. Speed or insomnia, the crash is remarkably similar, but you won't hear the feds tell you that in their war on drugs. Say no.

Anna came to the bar again tonight, she seems to be a weekend regular. We chatted a bit on my break, she seems to have her act together. I like to think I am a good judge of character. That's not to say I always hung out with the cleanest crowd around, but I always seem able to judge what kind of character a person has, good or bad.

Anna seems decent, certainly not hard to look at. She has bright eyes that dominate her face, pools of inky blue. Blond and short, the total opposite of Mary.

Shit. I can't even think about another girl without Mary floating through my head.

Anna works at an accounting firm, as an account administrator, whatever the hell that is. Probably looks better on a business card than my credentials would. She says it is "an okay job, for now."

I think I am starting to realize just how impermanent our modern lives are. No one stays at a job for forty years anymore. No one has a ten year old car anymore, unless you are poor or a college student. Always looking for something better. Maybe that's why I'm looking at Anna-Marie. Anna.

"Where you from?"

"What makes you think I'm not from Seattle?"

"Your accent, it isn't west coast, its middle America. Plains. The land of railroads and wheat."

"Kansas. Good job Detective Anna. Gold Star."

A small smile.