Due to an unexpected turn of events I am no longer living in Brooklyn, NY, nor in any part of the east coast’s Mid-Atlantic region. I moved to Raleigh, NC. I got a job as a geologist at an environmental and engineering firm down here, and it turns out they’re paying me. I now work on a drill rig with a gruff old man whose blind in one eye and likes Patsy Cline, and a confident young driller that’s trying to juggle his past and his eight-month-old daughter and her mother. I drive a truck that belongs to a dead man.
The breakdown: My internship at Beaufort Books had ended and I was looking for work. I was following my boss’s advice and was searching for work at a literary agency. One day I got an email from a friend asking me if I still wanted a job at his company, and I thought, Shakespeare’s got to get paid somehow. So I said yes, and four days later I rode the Amtrak eight hours from Philadelphia, PA to Raleigh, NC.
The move is a little exciting, and I don’t mind it when the trains ride and whistle by my apartment at night in front of North Carolina’s Central Prison. Its lights and guard towers hovering behind the stalled Norfolk Southern freight trains outside of my windows. My windows which don’t shut properly, whose view is obstructed by the boxes of books and clothes, the wore out bike parts, and the only couch and standing lamp I brought with me. I have been living here for about four weeks now. I still don’t own a bed.
I’ll keep you in the know,