I may feel crappy but I only feel crappy for a little while. I’ll have jogged in the rain, and, soaked, gone through aisles of clothes at TJ Maxx only to realize what I was looking for was right around the corner, on the sidewalk.

I little bird–a finch maybe, judging from its yellow-throated feathers. Dead.

Not sure, how, why.

What I’m looking for is right under my nose.

That day, I tell everyone who asks that my name is Chad. There is, in fact, only one person who asks. I turn away from the bird and go to Birch, the coffee shop. The barista  asks my name, so he can scribble it on my paper cup. “My name is Chad.”