Morning Glory

In pedicabery, there are two important things about Saturdays.

First, one Saturday hour is worth something like 2.5 ordinary hours.

Second, because I work whenever I want, I have this feeling that any moment not on the cab means a direct loss in profit. You could see pedicabing as having no set shift, or you could see it as having a shift that goes on all the time. So when this happens…




It usually plays out like this…



Therefore, I must work Saturday until every soul has gone from Downtown. I had a sore throat, I was dehydrated, and a street burrito threatened to give an encore, but I couldn’t quit. It would be like lighting $50 bills on fire.

And nobody wants that.

But I still had Church at 9am. And what kind of a person would I be were I to sleep through Church because I was up helping drunken philistines to their debaucherous ends?

Unfortunately, when I need to get up for something specific, my brain does something strange. It takes a harmless suggestion, like, maybe I’ll get up to go to Church, but with nothing else to do, turns this small idea over and over all night long…




It was incepted.

By 8:30am, I was no longer a man, but some kind of Church-going automaton.

In fact, I shouldn’t have gone at all, for I developed some kind of sickness in the night. With the virus, low sleep, and a night of pushing my body to its drunk-hauling threshold, I really should have stayed in bed.

But I didn’t understand this. I didn’t understand anything. My powers of reason were no more. An avid sleepwalker, I honestly think I may have been sleeping when I got out of bed.

I achieved semi-awareness in the bathroom, but the light was bright, so I closed my eyes…




…and then dozed off for about three minutes.



I awoke in a lingering delirium. But of course, I had to fulfill the purpose that my mind had spent all night incepting. It was a consciousness composed of a single idea: go to Church. So I shambled to the car, though I really shouldn’t have been driving.

I found the classical station especially profound.





.

And the jazz station was no help.




.

Certain things were very upsetting…



…and led to some troubling revelations.




.

Of course, I had no conception of a route, and just wandered in circles that sort of drifted outward in an easterly direction.





.

Turned out the service actually started at nine thirty. At least they had a coffee machine.

Now I’m gonna sleep.

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