Marigolds
I was jolted awake by the deafening hoonnnkkkkk of my car horn as my forehead bounced off the steering wheel. I sat in my beat up 1999 Ford truck in the parking garage of the hospital, trying to gather enough motivation to force myself out of the car for my third 12-hour overnight shift in a row this week; clearly having to pay rent was not cutting it in the motivation department anymore. Fighting the exhaustion, I rubbed my eyes one more time and started making my way towards the elevator. The security guard near the door tipped his hat, and I returned the greeting with an exhausted half-wave and “silent what up” nod; our typical 8 PM exchange. It’s one of those mundane sort of things where you take the same route to work, park in the same spot, and say hello to the same person every day...but you can’t for the life of you come up with the name of the person you’re exchanging pleasantries with.
