"ALWAYS HOME" — © 1987 - 1999 by Charles Dobie

ALWAYS HOME : Page 2

He prepared his breakfast: strong sweet tea, brown toast and a thick slice of extra-old cheddar cheese. 'Farm Fresh' it said on the wrapper. He snorted; hadn't seen real cheddar cheese in thirty, forty years. 'Rat cheese' they used to call it; strong enough to clear your sinuses. He moved the package closer to the light, and squinted at the print that was far too small. He read aloud: "Ingredients: milk solids, water, whey powder, bacterial culture, sodium phosphate, salt, dy-glicer-thingamajigs . . ." His voice trailed off in a snort of disgust. Guess that's progress for you: yuppie food.

Mustn't be late for today's first appointment; nearly all the way across town, and the traffic will be murder what with school starting and all. Business will be slow now; almost nothing until Christmas. Such a long time to wait. Oh well, maybe something will come up. Better just think of today; there's eight cats to feed.

The first appointment had become his favourite. He liked the woman, although he had only met her at the interview. "I'm still a farm girl at heart," she told him, laughing. "But I'm too spoiled to go back there now. Too many years of central heating." She too had a grandfather clock; it stood grandly in her hallway, but it was much older and finer than his. He thought perhaps her farmhouse had been a large one, built of stone.

He paused on the front steps of his tiny house, trying not to look at the apartments across the street. He shivered; too cold for this time of year. Two weeks ago everyone was screaming about the heat, now they'll be screaming about the cold. Thought the greenhouse layer, or whatever they call that stupid thing, was supposed to make everything warmer. Bunch of bloody foolishness!

He fumbled in his pockets for his keys, dropping his gloves in the process. Idiot! Forgot them again! Waiting patiently there on the table where he'd set them down, most likely. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, but nobody was about. Not as if he knew who his neighbours were anyways. They ignored him so he guessed he could do the same. Not like the old days when this was a real neighbourhood. He went back into the kitchen and retrieved his keys.

He loved the solid 'whunk' of his car door when it closed. None of those imports for him! He hated the things; reminded him of insects darting in and out of traffic, causing accidents. Give him a big Olds any day; safe and solid, just like him, and never an accident in his life. So what if they made him take a test every year; he looked forward to it -- impressed the people at the licence bureau no end. Always felt like asking them: how about all those young hot-rodders in their muscle cars; crazy fools with more money than brains, why don't you test them too? Yes, maybe next time he'll ask them, but only after they renew his licence.

He moved easily into the traffic on Danforth Avenue, against the early morning flow of commuters headed downtown. Still cold. He reached over and turned on the heater, full blast.

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"ALWAYS HOME" — © 1987 - 1999 by Charles Dobie