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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog

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Missing

Ten o'clock, finally. I clock out, say my goodbyes, and walk out the door.

The cool breeze coming from the lake feels especially lovely, and for a minute I stand in one spot, close my eyes, and breathe in the night air.

I turn the corner and enter Brigade, making sure to give Michael an extra long hug hello, and goodbye. Pleasantries and air kisses to the hot straight man; can't miss the bus.

I walk past crowds of outdoor diners keeping my eyes straight ahead. I hear laughter, wine glasses lightly tapping one another, bits of conversation not meant for my ears. I think about how hard my day has been and how I would love nothing more than to pull out my mobile and reserve a table for two.

Suddenly, I remember my non-existent bank balance. I curse what we're missing.

At the bus stop I pull out the style section of the newspaper and peruse the clothing I adore, knowing exactly where to buy the knockoffs.

I stumble up the back stairs and unlock the door. I'm greeted by the world's most adorable cat, and the most loved man of my life. The sight of both these creatures makes my heart melt. The smell of freshly baked pizza fills the air.

Eyes closed for just a moment, I inhale the familiar aroma.

I smile, and feel a bit of pity for the people dining out this evening.

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