Thursday, April 3, 2008

I'm delivering a package on behalf of Lynn Behrendt to either my Pilates studio or my old gym. I go to the Pilates studio first. I pass a soldier on the way who is looking for the package, it's his job to get it, but he doesn't bother with me or try to take it. I walk back home, realize I forgot to do something, and walk back, this time crawling past the soldier -- he pays me no mind. I go into my old gym and a woman who works there greets me, says certain trainers miss me or want to work with me. I don't remember most of them, but pretend I do. She enourages me to attend special sessions over the weekend, but I tell her I'm going to be out-of-town. She says X (another poet, will remain nameless else he may self-google and get an inflated ego) will be teaching a self-defense class on Sunday at 3:00. I ask if he's coming all the way down to VA just to do that. Then I remember that he's doing something at the Pilates studio at that time -- and tell her of the potential scheduling conflict.

I walk out -- going a different way that takes me right past the soldier who is sitting on the desk outside the parking lot. He has to be aware that I have information about the package, but again he pays me no mind and is speaking to someone on the phone about it. A man walks by me and I hear him saying that there was something very dangerous in that package. I don't know what was in it, but I doubt what he's saying. I try to imagine what might be in it, I think maybe wine, but realize the package wasn't heavy enough. I consider warning Lynn or the people I delivered it to, but don't.