I walk out my front door every morning at 6:50 am, it’s still dark outside and the air smells salty somehow. Sometimes the city bus is driving through our development or the garbage truck, and sometimes it’s just quiet. In my car, and I’m sipping coffee to stay alive, thinking wildly about all the things I want to do, for some reason everything feels capable this early, because it feels like a head start. 9.73, my morning radio show, I only get to listen to ten minutes of it, but sometimes I feel like it’s the best part of my day, I imagine myself emailing Kidd Kraddick, telling him I’ve been listening to him for years, how I got roped in by that Christmas special where he gave all those gifts to a family in need, I drove around for hours crying. Or the hours when I made breakfast at the inn, listening along and laughing to myself. And now, final phase Savannah, every morning with the same people, those same personalities, quirks, downfalls, I’m always hesitant to turn off my car, to open my door and leave the safety of their voices behind, but then I remember, there’s always tomorrow.
