Ed- Part 2

Nothing really too compelling in the first section of the paper- Mayor Daley opened the new airport, replacing the Meigs Field screw-up- another Catholic priest would be fired and disrobed for improper sexual conduct- actually, for sexual conduct, period, at Bucktown's own St. Mark's Cathedral. These first few hours of the morning passed by with short glances at the news and entertainment articles and long detailed studies of the obituaries and the crossword.

At 10:30 Ed stood up from behind the counter, precisely refolded his paper and walked toward the door leading back to his apartment. He was very thirsty. Hesitating at the stoop, he glanced over his shoulder toward the front door wondering why he ever thought this was a good idea. No one, after all, had been into the shop since he opened the door at 8:30 am. Despite his doubt he moved back to the front door, flipped the sign over to "be back soon" and turned the lock.

Back in the house Ed felt his pockets making sure they still contained his vital companions as was his habit upon changing positions in any way. Three quarters, two dimes, a nickel, three pennies and his Chapstick brand chapstick in the left pocket- nail clippers, a paper clip, a guitar pick and a British pound in the right. His empty, worn-down leather wallet was stored in his back right pocket.

He reached for a glass from the cabinet to the left of the sink, filled it halfway with water from the tap and the rest of the way with filtered water from the fridge. He give it a couple swirls and sipped on the water, considering this ridiculous change in his routine. It was only a few weeks earlier that Ed had been sanding down the curves of a new violin he was crafting at Bigley and Hughes. He felt his hands around his file, carving the f holes on the top piece- carefully following the pre-drawn lines of his design, intended to show up the finest Stradivarius. He watched himself working for hours on the same area of the body, sanding softly, gruffly, softly again- until that naked piece of wood could carry perfectly the resonant sound of the violinist's bow stroke. This sort of work suited Ed perfectly. Left to himself he had plenty of time to think his own thoughts and a nice repetitive concentrated activity to keep him from slipping over the edge of his introversion into a hermit-like coma.

Ed was a thinker. At any given moment his head could be in a million places. Blessed with a five track mind and cursed with a quiet social life Ed found himself to be a lot to handle- even for himself. He took another sip of water and looked out the window over the sink.