Write about: the coach.
We've signed Max up for soccer class, which runs Monday afternoons at the community centre gym. I'll be taking him for as long as it goes, as long as I continue my search for a job. It's for 3 to 5 year olds, so pretty basic stuff - dribbling, kicking, that sort of thing. At least that's how it started; we'll see what future weeks have in store for us.
Max enjoyed it but wanted me pretty close. I'm hoping he'll get more comfortable soon and I can just leave the coach to his work while I watch from the stands.
Speaking of the coach, Max was doing a pretty impressive impression of him after we got back home. Which, obviously, involved him telling me what to do. I got a video of part of it on my phone that I suspect I'll be sharing pretty soon.
I dial the number from memory and eye my surroundings while I wait for an answer. I don't like what I see.
It's dark in here, but there's enough light to see the water pooling on the floor. I'm not sure where the nearest toilet is but I'm pretty sure I'd find it if I traced the leak back to its source. I'd tried calling four different plumbers but they'd all hung up as soon as I'd given them the address.
The desk situation is precarious at best. I'd say the left end is a good inch lower than the right and all but one of the drawers are stuck closed. That's probably a good thing. At any rate, I haven't tried too hard to get them open.
My call goes to voice mail just as the furnace in the next room roars to life like a drunken, misplaced lion. I can barely hear the recorded message but I don't need to. I know it by heart at this point.
"Hi Curtis," I say after the beep as I head for the door. I force myself to resist the temptation to drop a match in my wake. "I think we're done, buddy. Thanks for nothing and I hope you rot in hell."
It's a fresh start for me. Now I'm in need of a new job and a new life coach.