Listen my children and you shall hear

Astral Weeks Listen No. 438

The final stretch of the evening trek home: crumbling brick smokestacks dawdle by the river; small planes, on their way to the nearby airport, dangle overhead like a child's mobile; parked cars queue at the prison for visiting hours, children sitting on drivers' laps, inmates waiting at picnic tables.

As we leave the office, a co-worker says, "Doesn't matter how the day goes as long as I get through that door," as he gestures to the exit. And then another co-worker responds, "And the next one you go through is that door at home." And now I'm almost home, almost through that door, when Van Morrison sings, "And I stand with my arms behind me / And I'm pushin' on that door." Astral Weeks: Making shitty daily commutes significantly less shitty.