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Well I’d just finished dinner at the 88 and it was pretty good. Restaurants like Euforia and BEAR’s have spoiled me, but we’ll soldier through. I had mistakenly ordered the pan-fried sea bass. But that was a good lesson — now I knew to avoid seafood for the big night.Humming to myself, I was looking out at the comparatively high vista seen from my F-150. I was doing my usual backroads meandering. No need for 69 — the highway, not the ... other. And I’d skip I-35 altogether. Vanessa and Walker and Pilar were too polite to yawn as I had recited my Los Angeles surface-street triumphs.Suddenly, bright, bright lights flashed on in my rearview. Way high, some sort of monster truck. I was barely a mile past the Excelsior outskirts and I tried to hit the accelerator when — WHAM! The fucker rammed me, sending the rear of my truck spinning to the right.I was in shock, fighting the wheel, ears ringing, half-blinded. It was a second, maybe two or three, when he crashed into the driver’s side. Later in the evening, it began to rain. I had no clue why, it had been bright and sunny the day before. It didn’t matter though, I loved the rain. To me it was beautiful. As I sat relaxed in the couch by the easy chair in the living room, my less-than-lovely wife began the barking that she was famous for.“Depesh! Go get the mail!”It felt like nails and screws being driven into my brain.“You know how I hate the cold. Go!”I grumbled in agreement and set off to the main office. I walked slowly through the rain, enjoying it as the cold drops of water splashed on my face and rolled down my gaunt cheeks. I entered the main office and headed straight for the mail room. Reaching my apartment number, I fumbled around in my pocket and found the key. I opened the mailbox and looked inside. Nothing. Not a goddamned thing. This trip, though rather enjoyable, had been a waste of precious energy.“Hey, Depesh!”I looked to the source of the melodious voice. It was Seema. I smiled to try and match.
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