The driver’s seat

I walk out of a building and down some steps and there’s Mike sat in a car, in the driver’s seat. He’s here to do a reading, he says. Why didn’t he let me know? I’ve been trying to get him to come to Manchester for ages and now here he is, but he didn’t tell me. This should matter, but for some reason it doesn’t. Also, the fact that he wants me to come to his reading, possibly even introduce him at the reading, when I’m already meant to be doing a similar thing for someone else tonight, should matter, but doesn’t. Somehow, in my head, it’s all going to work out. I don’t know how, but I’m not stressed about it. (06/06/09)

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One Response to “The driver’s seat”

  1. Wendigo81 Says:

    Are you as generous of spirit in your waking life? Personally, I’d have been really pissed at Mike and found a way of getting subtle revenge for such a social sleight. But there again, I’m a woman…

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