I’ve never worked the day after Christmas, before. Ian and Kelly are both on vacation, but I’m at work. Early, because we have a plane to catch on Friday afternoon.

We gave Ian a soccer ball for Christmas. We took the ball to a park yesterday, because it was sunny and fifty-four degrees. Today’s not as nice, but that wouldn’t have mattered.

I was spoiled yesterday, with a refurbished PS2 and Guitar Hero. Ian slung the guitar over his shoulder and swung his hips in time to Message in a Bottle. He was terrible, so I played with his hands on mine; he didn’t stop dancing. He played air-drums when it was my turn.

I wrote Kelly and told her that I didn’t like being here, that I missed Ian. She said that Ian woke up and asked when I’d be home.

Thirty minutes and counting.

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