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He wasn't anywhere near back to normal, yet, but it was Tuesday at the Record-Herald, and Tuesday was a day you didn't miss unless you were the subject of a funeral, so he worked all day, at no more than half power, then took Wednesday off to recover.He slept late, then got up, got a cup of coffee he really didn't want, then plopped down in his chair in the living room. He felt like reading, but didn't really think of anything that interested him. Daytime TV was trash, of course. He took the remote and turned on the VCR; maybe someone had left a tape in it that was worth watching, although the odds were that it was more of Henry's cartoons.It wasn't cartoons; it was the tape that Kirsten had made on the finish line at Sunday. He had already seen it seventeen times at least, but he watched the climactic moments once again: the teams racing across the ice, pounding along side by side, Tiffany so tiny behind the drive bow of the sled, but so intense and dedicated. Once again, he heard. ”“So what are you doing over here all by your lonesome, stranger?”And so, the flirting begins.“Sometimes I like to sit on the outside of the party when it gets too over stimulating, and just watch all of the drunken interactions.”“Mind if I sit up there, and join you?” Oh she had no idea just how much I’d like that.“Shurr, it was getting a bit lonely anyway.”I extended my hand down to help her up. Her touch is electrifying. Literally. We shocked each other’s hands on contact. She rubbed her finger, then pouted up at me. “Haha, let’s try this again. Hand me your drink?” I placed her drink on the ledge next to me, then extended my hand once more, and helped her up onto the ledge. She picked up her drink, and scooted closer to me. Really not a bad day at all. Shit, hope I didn’t just jinx myself. Absentmindedly, I knocked on the ledge.“What was that for?” she asked?“Well, I woke up this morning with a sinking feeling that today would suck. It turned out to be just the opposite,” I added.
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