I went out early this morning to move my car. I had to park in a metered space last night because there was no space on my street. So this morning I had to move the car before I got a ticket.

I saw a guy outside who I talked to once last week. He’s been working on the house two doors down for the past week or so. Last week, when I walked out of my building, I found a smashed bottle of Sriracha practically on the steps. I was standing there looking at it when the dude saw me and commented that it must be difficult to live in my building with all the drama going on with my neighbor. I told him it was difficult, and then I kept moving because I was late for something, can’t remember what.

In any event, after I left, with the Sriracha still on the ground, it occurred to me that the guy thought I was lazy for not cleaning it up. In fact, I came back about 20 minutes later and cleaned it. I picked up all the glass and then got a bucket of water to slosh all the hot sauce off the sidewalk. But since then I’ve been thinking about the guy and the hot sauce, and there he was this morning. I’m not entirely sure why this was significant to me. Possibly I felt embarrassed about walking away from a mess and not showing some responsibility in the moment. In any event, I did eventually clean the stuff up.

Another meaningless post. I need to do something to step up the quality of my writing. In fact, my best writing has almost always been in response to something I’ve read. The answer to this writing quandary is to read.