Home again

I am very sure working on Saturdays is unnecessary, but if they'll pay me for sitting around and taking notes, I could sure use the money. Don't even have to teach those languid teenagers. I must log at least 6 notebooks every Saturday at work.

Ceilí hopped from the bus to the curb, a little extra pep in her step. Conveniently, that hop carried her over the grimy puddle of murk in the street. The hop had become a part of her daily routine, and it got a smile out of the bus driver every time.

8/28/2010- 2:49:47- Bus 52 arrives at stop. 6 including me exit. None enter. No one on the playground.

Not surprising; this endless rain has left everything soggy, and it feels as if nothing has dried out. I guess the kid who normally plays here is someplace dry.

Nope! There he is, over by Watershed Heights. Ahh, that's why, that woman with the big brass horn is playing outside. That reminds me...

8/28/2010- 2:51:15- XX18 is outside Watershed playing for crowd of 2 kids, 1 teen girl, 2 men, 4 women.

Walking around the roundabout the long way for a better view while pulling the notebook out of her sleeve again, Ceilí was struck in the side of the head by a small, dense, fast-moving idea- though she liked the prospect of being able to look over the notebooks and compare the data, the process of cross referencing each note was easily the most time consuming activity she committed to, and painfully boring despite the potential of all the notes in those notebooks. The rare gap of sun through the clouds eked a glint out of the sousaphone, and the unexpected glare gave Ceilí's mind a whir, and once the spinning had stopped, the kernel of thought remaining was brilliant.

A computer. The cross referencing takes so long because the notes have nothing to do with each other. I can't carry around all of my notebooks, one about the lightbulb, one about the rats by the Heights door, one about the rats by the fountain, etc. Impossible. But a computer.. All of the notes right there, I just have to go to the right area.

Naturally, this was not the first time such the computer had made itself evident as an alternative. The arguments for computers were well planned in Ceilí's head. There had simply not been enough money before to go through with the idea.

Ceilí was forced to send the idea to the back of her head when she realized she'd passed the opening to Watershed Heights and was now circling the building. Ahead of her, a woman scurried clumsily from the street, arms full of long pieces of wood and a large bag, and headed straight into an old metal door at the base of the building. In her haste, one of the pieces of timber fell from her load, landing on a beer can with a crunch, alerting the woman to its new position. The woman turned back, scurried over to the wood, and began to lean over to pick it up before realizing the futility of her situation. If she picked up the board, the rest would tumble from her arms. She looked around, mumbling and scowling, until her eyes caught on Ceilí.

Ceilí jogged several steps towards the woman, who seemed to shrink back from the approaching stranger, and picked up the board with both hands. She stretched our her arms and set the wood down on top of the stack still in the woman's hand, noticing that the woman had more wrinkles on her face than she'd a right to when carrying so much stuff.

"My name is Ceilí Thompson, I live upstairs. I don't recognize you, did you just move in?" she asked as she turned the knob to the basement door. It opened with a high pitched squeaking-grinding noise.

I guess I found XX49.