finally home from the last stop of the book tour.
the house is empty.
I'm exhausted.
physically.
mentally.
emotionally.
spiritually.
if the past two weeks hadn't have been the culmination of a dream I might even say I was broken.
but, I'm not.
through the exhaustion I feel a bit energized.
and, I'm home... without supervision.
it means I can do whatever the hell I want to do to mark this passing.
there's a bar down the street, a place that can't seem to decide if it wants to be a dive or a hipster hangout.
giant photos of yakuza irezumi hang along one wall, Olympian on tap for $2, a great jukebox and two sparse dim rooms. two things brought me here; a celebratory cocktail and the photobooth wedged between the jukebox and a vending machine. The booth is my favorite model, the classic black and white dip and dunk filmstrip kind. $3 in and 3 minutes you get to capture 4 poses... distinct moments on 8 inches of photographic paper. I take a few sips off the Campari and Soda and head into the box. at 38 years old, here I am. I've published my first book, toured it, met some amazing readers in a handful of cities and started the rough work on the next book... through all of this it has come to the taste of Campari and a set of four poses being the things that delight me and make me feel that everything has been worth it. I adjust the seat with a spin down and line my eyes up to the guide marks, take my seat, close the curtain and check my reflection... three crisp singles in the slot and the greenlight says the machine is ready...
You did it Mr. Reynald, you captured the dream.
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