Monday began without me—
       a song waiting patiently
       until I woke late,

       body still somewhere back in Vegas time.

Sent the morning voice memo,
     and before I had properly loaded,
     her answer came back:

              “When can I?”

Clipped.
        The rest of the question missing,
              its intent entirely intact.

The sentence looked unfinished…

            it compiled anyway.

Seconds later:

              “See you, lol.”

And Monday,
    just like that,
         had somewhere to go.

Mine was packed tight—
     the stubborn kind of day
     that won’t make room

     just because something better asks.

So I answered like an adult:

         “I’ll be done at 5.”

Her: “That’s so far away.”

Five o’clock had been
     a harmless little number
          until she said that.

Then the afternoon opened wide—
                  all distance,
                     dry light,
 horizon taking its sweet time
            getting any closer.

We went on with our day,
   the thread kept light—

   nothing said hard enough
   to pull five any nearer.

When it finally wandered in,
     I sent her own question
     back across:

     “When can I?”

Same three words,
     traveling the other direction.

Then an hour went by.
Then another.

I assumed a nap
  and let the silence be.

Until—
      “I’m Up!”
      “Lyft me?”

Two words, times two
    and all that distance
           became a route.

My hands couldn’t have moved faster.

Got Orca walked, set up camp at Irby’s—

    Braves–Padres on one screen,
    Dodgers–Phillies on another,

    two games making their way toward a final
    while my eyes kept finding Irbys entrance.

Mari arrived just in time,
     shifting Irby’s center of gravity
     the second she cleared the door,

     leaving me scrambling for enough emergency math
     just to stay upright in my chair.

A quick bite,
  a couple beers,
  and two finals later:

          Dodgers lost.
            Braves won.

The scoreboard called it even.

Then Mari’s eyes lit up
     with that look I can’t resist—

     “Check, Please”

No replay needed.

Back to 325,
     Orca’s obligatory walk—

     some processes don’t get skipped.

Then an hour or so
     of couch quality control—

     a proper load test,
     conducted under real-world conditions.

It held.

We settled into cuddles
   until the alarm at 12:30
   called for the Mari exit—

                       tidy,
                      quiet,
                  efficient.

This time,
     Orca and I walked her down
        all the way to the Lyft.

A few “sweet dreams” messages later—

     Mari back in her bed with Coal,
     Orca and I back in ours.

Both sides of the thread
           quiet at last.

“When can I?”

The sentence stayed unfinished.

Monday didn’t.