An Adventure to Davenport, Iowa

May 28, 1997  Wednesday

I was awakened from another night’s fitful surplus of dreams by my dad early this morning.  It being his day off, he wanted to know if I wanted to do something.  Still in slumber’s partial daze, I said sure.  After all, what else did I have planned?  I pictured myself, laying in front of the TV, my hair unkempt for the last night’s sleep, even though it would be midday, maybe eating what can only be labeled as little more than death-inducing glop.  With a shudder I again accepted his offer.

By eight we were off into the wild grey yonder.  I brought along this notebook, and my mystery novel.  By the time we arrived in Galesburg, I decided to give the book the ax.  Brutal villains are usually fine, because it can make the antagonist more dangerous and reviled, but this book took it too far.  In it, a madman kidnaps a girl, and I was just horrified by this fictional character. In other terms, I don’t recommend it.

In Galesburg Dad and I made our way to the Amtrak station.  We gave our vouchers to the sole soul working the station, who was an older, bored looking man who eyed us from glasses on the tip of his nose.  The good news is that we were able to extend the vouchers for another six months.  As we were leaving, I noticed Lance’s unique grey car parked in the lot.

Passing the Galesburg library, and remembering I was once again without a book, we stopped, where I selected more mystery novels. Of the one I am twenty pages into, I have to say it’s sleazier than an afternoon talk show.

After that, it was on to Davenport, to ride a water taxi.  For some reason, my dad’s greatest love is water.  He will go all the way to Lake Michigan to look at it.  Don’t ask me why, but he likes it.  At least while we were waiting for the taxi to come into dock I got to feed the ducks that were lazily kicking about the water.  It was a cold, blustery ride, the muddy water of the Mississippi choppy, and the sky drearily overcast: a true moment of Zen.  We are at this moment on the river taxi, harbored at a dock about a mile from our origin.  It seems the Channel Cat has blown a fuse.



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