uncertain cities

words and sequences of them by Rhett Davis


Waiting for a delivery. Not knowing when the delivery will come. Unable to move, because if I miss the knock at the door, I will miss the delivery. If I miss the delivery, they will take my girlfriend’s product far away, to the airport. I don’t like the airport, and my girlfriend doesn’t like the airport, and it is a long way away, so why can’t they just leave it on the doorstep? What they’ll say is that they can’t leave it on the doorstep because it requires a signature from the person who is receiving it. This is to indicate that the person has received it, and can’t complain that they haven’t. The package has been through Quebec City, Louisville, and Honolulu. I can watch check in at cities I have never been. Last night it checked in at Melbourne. It is supposed to arrive today. Sometime. In the meantime, I sit near the door, so I can hear the knock when it comes. I can’t leave the house or put on my headphones or have a walk. I must be here, I must attend to sound and movement, and be sure that I do not miss the delivery. Occasionally the wind blows the plants in the front yard, and it sounds like someone’s approaching the door. Every car that drives past might be the van. It’s hard to concentrate on the work I think I have to do, or have to do, or am thought to be doing. I’m not sure this is the optimal way to procure a sun shade.