August 19. A hazy morning. Fresh with heat. Somewhat sticky; I didn’t mind.
“I won’t be seeing you again,” the unnamed guest told me. I was riding him from Northshire Inn to the local airport yet again. We bounced up and down together on Backlit Road, next to the lake. Although it was longer than traveling the interstate to the airfield, it was at the man’s request, which I obliged.
“Do share. Tell me why.”
“Because I’m moving to California this week. My associate and I are opening a production branch there. Doris is already out there, building things without me. Always busy. Always has her head in the game. I’m currently out of the loop. My schedule is a bit behind these days. Wish me luck in keeping it together.”
“The world needs paperclips,” I told him.
My comment wasn’t a joke, bu
