There's a storm pushing in, the sky is greying out, I better leave now or risk getting stuck here. I'm not ready to go, the Three Stooges Construction Company has been distracting me all day, their work on the building next door even with my office window. They are building up the second story, welding without goggles, a level does not make an appearance until afternoon. Sometimes when I look over they wave at me, so I purposefully concentrate elsewhere as they toss bricks up to the new balcony.

I took a painful lesson in flight last week, or perhaps just how much force I have in my legs, as I rush to cross Lexington Avenue. I tripped over a suitcase, knocked myself out of my own shoes, hit the ground knee first and now I am on my way to the subway out of stride and awkward. Barking Man is looking a little agitated in his seat outside the garbage shack. I can tell we will not be speaking today. His eyes are flickering, his mouth is worried. There is a can in a brown paper wrapper wedged between his legs, his hands flitting over the lip like skittering spiders.

I could go get a new swimsuit, or take my pocket change to the bank, or look for fishing line at the hardware store. But no, what I really want to do is head back to my nest, curl up in a corner with a view of the sky, and watch the rain come in.