Sometimes They Come Out of the Woodwork

steps[1] Descending the staircase yesterday evening in the small business building where I spend my days, I passed a woman as she was walking up. About 3 steps later I heard …

“Hey Marty! How are you? It’s Susannah!”

I hadn’t really paid attention as we had passed, my mind reviewing the problems of the day just finishing.

“OMG Susannah! How are you? I replied. She was also bundled up against the cold, in a high collared winter coat, and was sporting glasses. More reasons I hadn’t noticed.

“I’m great!” she smiled back.

Susannah had been my hair dresser many years ago. I can remember exactly when she last cut my hair, almost exactly 17 years ago. She had left the salon she was working in, and had started doing hair in the basement of her small home. She was a cute, leggy brunette that, as I fondly recollected,  always seemed to have a bit of a fancy for me.

“What are you doing here?” I queried.

“Oh, I’m here for an evening meditation.”

That struck a humorous chord in my addled brain. Sitting in her chair in her basement, I usually “meditated” about having her slip her face between my legs and sending me to another plane, if you know what I mean.

“I’ll have to phone ahead and drop in to see you the next time I have a session” Susannah said.

“For sure!” I replied.

I think I’ll meditate on this.




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