I don't even know anymore. It seemed like I was working at a new job, or possibly I was starting over at my old job in a very menial capacity. Whatever the case, I was the new guy and had to be accountable for all my time.
I found myself getting in a truck with one of the employees or vendors to a large automotive shop. I was intending to to just catch a ride to a different part of the shop, but he wound up getting out on the main road and I was going to be listed as AWOL if I didn't get out of the truck. I managed to convince him to let me out before he got onto the freeway.
Instead of heading back, I wandered away on my own to a place reminiscent of 412C West Wilson, Grace and Bill's place in Glendale. They were there, but it wasn't them. It was more like they were represented, but the people were closer to Ivan Waxman's parents.
So, I was there, AWOL from work and feeling the need to justify my existence. They offered me lunch, but I told them I would like to help out with the chores instead. I looked around, and there were dishes in the sink, but they were already clean and not needing my attention.
Outside in the yard, there was some digging going on. Ivan's dad and a neighbor were digging up some old tires that someone had buried on the perimeter of the lawn as a makeshift border with the concrete walkway. It was very unseemly as far as decorative borders go, so I grabbed a shovel and started helping the to dig up the tires from the muddy, grassy lawn.
Yep, that's about it. Pointless, as usual.
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I've changed my comments settings to allow for anyone to comment. All comments are welcome, even spineless potshots from anonymous posters. Please, by all means, give me the tongue lashing I so richly deserve. I promise not to hunt you down and melt your keyboard with my plasma cannon. I won't, however, promise not to pout and make that face you can't stand.