I managed to finally find my brother at the truck stop where he was – which was actually quite a feat, because at this point the wind had picked up and it was SO. COLD.
It was that kind of cold that sinks into you and steals your breath.
I could barely hold on to things, because my fingers were numb from the cold. (We later checked the weather report and it was 12 degrees Fahrenheit (-11 C.) after factoring in windchill.
But then we went into the truck stop and had pizza for dinner and watched The Walking Dead, and just…caught up on stuff.
The next morning we went our separate ways. He was taking his load down south, and I was still heading North.
It was sunny, but the wind was still blowing, so I decided to not hitch the rest of the way to Seattle.
I’m a bit too fond of my fingers to risk them like that.
Instead of heading back out to the interstate, I caught the bus again, and decided to spend my extra time at Powell’s City of Books, (also known as heaven).
While I was there, I encountered
A) a floutist busking *inside* the store
B) the final book in my favourite series that is *unacceptably* difficult to find
C) a dear friend that I went to school with, who I managed to kidnap for a lunch break.
I have this feeling that I’m getting confirmation from the universe that this is a good way to live.