Alone on a bridge
Based on what I’ve absorbed from cinema, getting from there to here should require nothing more than a wiggle of the nose, or a snap of the fingers, or perhaps a wayward wand whatever. On a low budget shoot, a card showing “one thousand miles later”. In my life, the transportation requires hours and hours, seated in the same position, trying not to snore (I fail, apparently).
We’re back to the regular address now. After repacking the car, and closeting boxes of our stuff, and leaving a neatly lettered sign on one door asking that the washing machine on the other receive as few new dents as possible, we started cross-Island. There was a meeting with the contractor, where we confirmed that the job was pretty much complete, agreed to keep in touch and offered up a hearty wave before lining for the next crossing (of the bridge). I jest; we were on our own, in a light mist.
By mid-day, Moncton offered a chance to eat in the luxury of a chain restaurant (decent salad, actually) and then I went next door to the musician’s depot, for a chance to test the relative soundproofing of several brands of headphones. Turns out that what I’ve placed on my “wanted list” is actually best of the litter, which reaffirms my intent. No money spent, today. We have other more pressing budget line items.
The ride home offered little, in the way of distraction. Just after sunset, we landed on our own private parking strip, and the dog and son were content that we were home (with milk).
