[In which I type for 5 minutes straight stopping only when the timer goes ding]

We’re winding down a time of year lovingly known in the industry as Pilot Season. You’d think there’d be something to do with actual steering, given the pilot metaphor, but it usually feels fairly rudderless.

It can be a time full of adrenaline, angst, hand-wringing, head-smacking, maniacal laughter — and sometimes, it’s just plain hard.

But in the midst of all the kookery, I’m attempting (and often failing) to notice things. You know, just stuff, in life, that’s around me.

I passed No-Pants Lady today in the crosswalk, and again was only able to shoot furtive glances at her. I’m still not convinced she isn’t some sort of deity walking the earth. Earlier I drove past a man picking through a sizable afro and talking to himself animatedly. He got caught in the wake of a bunch of young guys stomping through downtown and tried to join them.

They let him walk along, didn’t really acknowledge or rebuff, and I saw a couple of them smiling a little. Not mean smiles, just like, Hey. This dude wants to travel awhile. Cool.

C has taken to carrying change and singles in case someone asks for money – someone always asks for money – and at first I was sort of

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