Friday, 7:39PM
Hello. This is Mal Flowers.
HIIIII MAL!!!!!!!
so how are we feeling about this weekend????
sunday right?
Yes, Sunday works best for me.
And somewhere in Covington would be best, too, since I walk.
OKAY PERFECT
i know just the spot!!!!
have you ever been to the haus???
The coffee place on 3rd Street?
yesss hence the name
the haus
on 3rd stet
*street
Yeah, that works for me.
Can we do 1:00 PM?
yesssssssss yes good.
that gives me an excuse to get the gruff for lunch before
cool i’ll text you when i get there!!!!!!!!
see you then!!!!
Okay, see you then.
you better be ready to PLAN!!!!!!
CHAPTERFOURTHE HAUS ON 3RD STREET
On Sunday morning, Mal walked from their house on East 17th Street toward the Haus on 3rd Street. It was more blocks than most people liked to walk, but Mal didn’t mind. For one, they didn’t have much choice. Even with their extra money from working at Dollar City, they couldn’t afford a car anytime soon, so if they had places to go, it was on foot or by bus. And they’d rather save the cash. They always felt strangely guilty spending money on something they could do themself.
For another, theylovedwalking, especially on mornings like this, when the warmth of sunshine on their cheeks was tinged with just the tiniest bit of a breeze, crisp with the promise of the coming autumn. It was an easy way to be alone, to breathe the fresh air and the various smells of the city. Mal did some of their best noodling on walks—their best processing and planning—with one cheap earbud tucked into their ear with a playlist, the other dangling free so they could listen out for cars or weirdos. If Mal ever felt Off, or Anxious, or Out of Control, they went for a walk about it.
They had gotten very good at walks.
At the speed they walked, the seventeen blocks would takethem about forty minutes, which was a solid amount of time for a Self-Talk.
Self-Talk was another proper noun for Mal: a sort of inner dialogue they had in their head before they had to Do Something. They had picked up the phrase from somewhere—maybe from their eighth-grade therapist, who insisted they try Positive Self Talk. But on most days, Mal thought asking for their self-talk to be positive was a stretch. Often, it was very much the opposite: Mal’s brain picking its way through the imagined minefield of everything that could (and probablywould) go wrong so they could be prepared. So, Self-Talk it was.
On the agenda for this walk were a few topics.
