ALSO- ERWIN makes up stories about other people’s lives, Erwin… I don’t know; I probably should include the dream journal-type stuff I definitely want to write here. So, okay.

June 12, 2026- “The green sunglasses and the pay-to-park dealie.”

I tried to make it a rule that I would never pay to park somewhere surf-adjacent. I’ve pretty much stuck to this; and, yes, I am aware this has become so much more difficult. in the years since I left California. I have broken this pledge, most notably in my total willingness to park at Doug’s, five dollars for access, totally worth it. Doug died, the opportunity has been replaced with a long hike. Like a six dollar hike.

Probably not surprising, I also refuse to pay big money for coffee when I can make it at home. But I left my thermos at Dru’s house the other day, had to go to the bank in Port Townsend (because they closed the only bank in Quilcene), and I figured I would go to Quimper Mercantile and get a cheap thermonuclear recepticle, fill it with coffee from the Penny Saver, and get on with the day. So, I pulled up to the storefront, parked in a handicapped spot (Trish, who deserves the placard I hung from the rearview mirror, calls it paralyzed parking), and contemplated whether or not I should go in.

I pretty much had to. The lot, other than a cordoned-off area at the bank, is now a pay lot. Maybe they use cameras to track down and charge scofflaw freeparkers. I didn’t know. I went inside, evidently to an auxiliary counter, one with a young man, looking pretty bored. I asked about a thermos. He pointed to the back corner; camping and fishing stuff for tourists braving the wilds, and clothing that might make one believe they are, like, locals. Hats; lots of outdoorsy headgear. A sixty dollar stainless steel thermos. No. I grabbed a ten dollar item designed for, perhaps, soup. Hungryman. Chunky. Hearty.

There are several spinnable racks of sunglasses at the bored guy’s counter. Some have stickers with $3.99 in big letters. I always. need sunglasses; I’ve broken or lost every pair I’ve ever owned. The more I like them, the faster they. are lost or broken. I put a pair on the counter; the frames a lovely shade of seafoam green. I throw another pair on the counter. Backup. The cashier points to a different rack. I may have mentioned my cheapness, or he figured it out. Maybe it was when I complained about the parking fees.

“Oh. So… how much are these?” He hits it with the pricing gun/device. “$29.99” “Oh.” The seafoam green wasn’t that lovely.

Because I have never done the ‘take a photo of the square thing with your phone and…’ thing, and because there was no one behind me waiting to check out, and because I wanted my. parking validated, I asked the obviously savvy young man to do it for me. Yes, I took the photo, yes, I ran out to get the license plate number. So, mission accomplished. On to the Penny Saver.

But, a few hours later, I get a text message from the private parking corporation asking if I want to extend my stay, along with a list of rates (like $26.50 for 24 hours) and convenient ways to pay, and, I think, an NDA. I text back. That doesn’t work. I hit on another spot. “Thank you. Look forward to helping you with your paeking needs in the future.”

Probably not. I can walk over from the bank. Yes, agreed, I shouldn’t have used the paralyzed parking.

COMING UP soon; a story to go along with this image, taken on the shower wall of a house I was painting. A woman with two young children moved out of the house.

It got smudged before I took the photo and is now gone, but the one message says, “I love you moreee,” and the other saiys, or said, “What would you do if you weren’t around me?”

I did see the woman when I looked at the job. She seemed overwhelmed. She and the kids are moving to oh-my-god Alabama. You make up your story. I’m working on mine.