Saturday 1/29/00

Yesterday I spent time strapped onto a board, looking up at six bright lights and a fire fighter in his turn out coat who dripped sweat in my face as they worked.

I went to see Dave Trost this morning, I felt better after that, but now at 3:00 pm I am getting a headache.

My car is a mess, but driveable. The front seat broke, and the impact knocked my hat off of my head.

I heard a loud noise, then I was looking at the head liner.

I have memories of 'knowing' what was happening just a moment before it went down, glimpses of recollection of 'things' happening, cars moving too fast.

Today we had the opportunity to twice visit the official police impound lot ('car pound') at Connoly's towing. The first trip found us lacking the vital 'vehicle release.' We made our way to the Arvada Police department, and they took care of us, and then we went back, paid our $53.50 and went on our way.

I paid the fee while heather, Maddy, Spencer and Linda hung out in the van.

I worked on making the experience a memory to use in my writing. The impound lot office was little bigger than a garden shed, counter between them and us, and carless suplicants in the 'us' side of things. The 'them' side had an almost middle aged woman smoking cigarrettes and typing forms, a thin mustached man dealing with people, and a counter in the back covered with paperwork and ledger books.

A map on the wall had numbered 'sections' in the lot. Impound, driveables, collision. I soaked up atmosphere and the reek of tobacco.