Packing. Waiting. Looking out of the window. Waiting. Eating. Exercising. Drinking tea. Waiting.
Someone is playing dance music somewhere, possibly downstairs. I am not even sure if it’s music at all. The only thing I can hear is the beat rumbling through the concrete.
It mirrors my heart.
The taxi ride to Baghdati takes thirty minutes.
The Caboose is there, in the yard, under plastic. She has been waiting for me for seven months. Or has it been eight?
Caboose: Um… hi?
CR: So… well… I’m back.
CB: I can see that.
CR: You look good.
CB: Oh, please!
CR: Come on, don’t be like that…
CB: Excuse me? Who told me it was going to be what, two weeks? A month?
CR: I had problems.
CB: Oh? What kind of problems?
CR: Please don’t ask.
CB: That bad?
CR: Yeah… but look, I got you new wheels!
CB: Come here, you!