Happy Labor Day

I’ll spend the morning deleting photos from the iPhone. There are over 10,000 of them.

Then I’ll read a little Beckett—Malone Dies for the third time. I don’t know why anyone reads any anyone other than Beckett? The answer to everything may be found there, in one of the three novels of the trilogy. Pick up Beckett almost anywhere and you’ll hear the bells of St. Mary’s sneezing and see all the great science-fiction movies you can stomach without commercial interruption.

The question I’ll ponder till noon, as lifted out of Samuel Beckett’s, Malone Dies, “Can a boot roll behind a piece of furniture?” That’s enough to get me through to early afternoon and nap time.  

After my nap I’ll go out and watch the buses run up and down the street where I live.

The 52 buses will be running today on 10th Avenue, though there’s not a passenger to be seen. As there’s never a passenger to be seen on the 52 I’d thought they wouldn’t be running today, I’d thought they’d take the day off as it’s Labor Day! The buses have been running up and down the street for three weeks now. The 52 comes right up the street every 15 minutes and then runs down every 15 minutes, from 6 in the morning till 10 at night, empty except for the driver. I watch the 52 run up and down my street daily from the front window, a few minutes here and there, whenever I have a free minute or two to myself. It’s quite entertaining for a shut-in, Samuel Beckett on wheels.  

Finally I sigh heavily, a full-throated sigh, at least two or three sighs—there’s nothing to be done, it’s all stupidity and waste and there’s no holiday from such things.