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I can't shake the feeling |
It feel like we’re missing something. My skin is still greasy, so I know I already put on sunblock. Do I have my wallet? I check my jacket--left pocket, right pocket, shit, no, not today! Oh, wait. In the bag, of course. Rooting through the knapsack, I cross more objects off my list: reading glasses, check, wet-naps, check, a pencil, tickets, granola bars, check, check, check. Did I lock the door? I repeat that mindless reflexive action often enough each time I lock it once more, the experience blends into a single mundane moment in my memory, indistinguishable from any individual instance of locking the door. Wait, today was different. The key didn’t fit at first, I mistakenly inserted it upside-down. Did I leave it in the door? Nope, right pocket. Did I forget my phone? Speak of the devil, it vibrates in a hidden inner pocket of my coat as if to say “here I am!” I just can’t place, it but it still feels like I’m missing something. We approach the theater. I give the ticket to the doorman. He glances downwards. “Um, excuse me, sir,” he says, pointing in the direction of his gaze. “No pants, no entry.” |