I had no idea why I told him.
Possibly because he had the emotional energy of a locked shed.
He nodded.
“Bad job?”
“It had potential.”
“Those are usually worse.”
I looked at the chalkboard.
“Do you teach scuba?”
“Yes.”
“Is it quiet?”
“Underwater?”
“Yes.”
“Usually.”
I had never wanted to scuba dive.
Molly had.
She had once sent me a video of a woman swimming beside a sea turtle.
We should do this.
I had replied:
Absolutely. After this campaign.
Tomorrow.
After this campaign.
When things calmed down.
All the small phrases people used to pretend time was a renewable resource.
“How much is a lesson?” I asked.
The man gave me a number.
I looked at my severance check.
“That seems financially irresponsible.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have an opening?”
He looked toward the dog.
