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I was having business troubles.
I was having car troubles.
I was having housing troubles.

We don’t even need to talk about the particulars. Let’s just assume that the day was going poorly. As my poor day was rolling right along, one thing leading to another, I had this thought. I was able to see the situation and me sitting in it seemingly from outside my own body and it’s like, “Wow, I get it.”

I’d just come home from work. My wife was gone. Vanished. Into thin air.

Chris, our roommate, was [again] parked on the couch [again] watching The Fast & The Furious [again] eating a salami sandwich [again] and drinking a beer [again], after a big night out spending his paycheck on gas by driving his Skyline from Point A to Point B, and back again.

I was almost entirely sure that the events transpiring were not, in fact, legal.

I was in the local liquor store. In Kansas, you can’t even buy wine in a grocery store, which is where I’d normally bought it in Nebraska during our tenure there. (Kansans consider wine “hard liquor.”)  It was simply easier. Now, having relocated to a new Airbnb in Smalltown, Kansas, I was having to relearn the rules.