We were hanging out every day at the same run-down bar, populated by riffraff and ne’er-do-wells. I considered the difference between a dive bar and a regular bar—you got watery ice in your drink at a dive bar, and less booze, for example, and the floors and walls were dusty and grimy—and this was definitely the former. I don’t know why we kept coming back, but it was our default location. I had a sense we were getting dragged down by the place and its people.

I was recalling that night in North Franklin when J. T. and I drank a jug of wine. How it could be that I felt fine the day after, but I really felt fine.

We were hosting a party. It was our home but it didn’t resemble our real home.. I was in a hurry pouring margaritas into little glasses before the guests arrived. When they did some were people I recognized, others not. J. L. commented on the large quantity of mites and mite dust. There were two people with guns I didn’t know. I sensed that they had some kind of extremist political views. They went out on the balcony to smoke. It reassured me to see them sitting out there, facing away, not an immediate threat to anyone.

I was at a meeting for my old job in the client’s building. I went to another floor looking for a bathroom. I found one and it was unisex. I got back to the meeting. The client was some kind of foods company. They gave us sample packages of their sauce mixes and weird instant products. It felt like we were going to get the business and it felt good.