Lot 143 : This Town Has Rules About The Thing That Mimics

This town has rules about the thing that mimics.

The drive was long and exhausting.

It was always fascinating to me how a six-hour drive just sitting on my ass could tire me out much more than an eight-hour shift standing up did.

Something about holding yourself in one position, I guess, staring straight ahead.

There was also something about being stuck that folded over you like a weighted blanket, heavier and heavier as the minutes passed.

I took a lot of bathroom breaks and just stood next to my car, staring out into the fields, and then later on into the forest.

Each rest stop was thicker with trees and thinner with other people.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, it was dark outside, and I was in an awful mood.

I hated arriving places in the dark, you know what I mean? This was the worst possible place to do so.

I was meant to live here, and my first time seeing the area was supposed to be a chance to feel it out and get comfortable.

Driving through the winding neighborhoods in the blackness just left me feeling more disoriented than the arduous process of moving already was.

I regretted leaving so late.

I regretted making so many stops, but it is what it is.

As my car door slammed shut, and I slung my overnight bag over my shoulder, the porch light came on, a yellow glow that emanated peacefully from just under the wooden awning.

My new neighbor cracked the front door open, and a little dog squeezed its way out, bounding towards me.

Cosmo.

Cosmo, come back here.

The border collie leapt into the air, his paws scraping the front of my sweatshirt with each jump

jumpI laughed, my bad mood beginning to melt away pretty quickly.

"Hi, Cosmo.

Hi, puppy.

Are you so friendly?" I mumbled, crouching to ruffle his ears and hold onto his collar, just in case he was a runner.

"I'm so sorry,"

The woman called, jogging down the driveway to meet us.

She took his collar from me, steering him back toward the house.

This town has rules about the thing that mimics.

The drive was long and exhausting.

It was always fascinating to me how a six-hour drive just sitting on my ass could tire me out much more than an eight-hour shift standing up did.

Something about holding yourself in one position, I guess, staring straight ahead.

There was also something about being stuck that folded over you like a weighted blanket, heavier and heavier as the minutes passed.

I took a lot of bathroom breaks and just stood next to my car, staring out into the fields, and then later on into the forest.

Each rest stop was thicker with trees and thinner with other people.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, it was dark outside, and I was in an awful mood.

I hated arriving places in the dark, you know what I mean? This was the worst possible place to do so.

I was meant to live here, and my first time seeing the area was supposed to be a chance to feel it out and get comfortable.

Driving through the winding neighborhoods in the blackness just left me feeling more disoriented than the arduous process of moving already was.

I regretted leaving so late.

I regretted making so many stops, but it is what it is.

As my car door slammed shut, and I slung my overnight bag over my shoulder, the porch light came on, a yellow glow that emanated peacefully from just under the wooden awning.

My new neighbor cracked the front door open, and a little dog squeezed its way out, bounding towards me.

Cosmo.

Cosmo, come back here.

The border collie leapt into the air, his paws scraping the front of my sweatshirt with each jump

jumpI laughed, my bad mood beginning to melt away pretty quickly.

"Hi, Cosmo.

Hi, puppy.

Are you so friendly?" I mumbled, crouching to ruffle his ears and hold onto his collar, just in case he was a runner.

"I'm so sorry,"

The woman called, jogging down the driveway to meet us.

She took his collar from me, steering him back toward the house.