10:18 a.m.
Was it Monday yesterday? My organizer says so,
but I’m never sure. When you’ve been travelling as much as I have, it stops to
matter. A rose with any other name would smell as sweet. A day with any other
name would be the same.
I don’t have work days. I have work weeks and
work months. When you’re on the road, the hours and days merge into a long
monotonous dream. It’s like being on an elevator that goes up a hundred floors.
You know you’re moving, but it feels like nothing ever happens and you’re not going
anywhere. That’s how it is to be a travelling salesman – you know you’re
moving, but you’re not really going anywhere.
I have been traveling so much that sometimes
when I sleep, I wake up in the middle of the night afraid that I missed my
stop. When the alarm clock rings, and I take comfort in the fact that I
have the luxury of an alarm clock, because I know I’m on a bed. I’m not
sleeping on a train where I might have missed my stop. I know I’m in a hotel,
motel, or inn somewhere in the middle of nowhere and I don’t have to worry
because I won’t be lost if I don’t wake in the next hour or so.
Why did I choose this job? Because it’s
something I’m really good at. I am organized. I am punctual. But I have a
lingering suspicion that I was hired not for what I can do, but for what I can
do without. I can do without friends, or moral support, or inspiration, or
hope. When you’re on the road, you won’t have any of that, and if you’re a
little soft-willed, you will go insane.
I am a salesman because I am a practical man,
an efficient man. You see, the business of sales is all about efficiency. You
don’t have to be excellent at anything, but you have to be efficient at
everything. That’s what I am – efficient.
However, in order for a man to be efficient,
he has to be organized. When you travel your mind is jarred. You move through
different time zones and the mind gets confused, you forget things. You have to
write things down. I know a travelling salesman who ended up in the hospital
for forgetting to eat, another almost died from insomnia. He stayed up for
days, forgetting to sleep.
I know it was Monday yesterday because I kept
notes. I know that I’m in Arkham and I know I’m on a bed at Ma’s Boarding
House. But I also know that I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be on
a train headed elsewhere, but I saw something yesterday that made me miss my
train.
Yesterday, I was at the General Store on the Rivertown Streets to take an order from the shop keeper. I was supposed to leave by train at 11:00 a.m. It says so on my organizer.
While I was in the General Store, a robed man
came in and bought several items, paying with old gold coins. I turned to the
shopkeeper for an explanation, but the man just ignored my questions, simply
saying, "That happens, sometimes."
I’m not leaving until I figure out where those
gold coins came from. If I plays my cards right, maybe this will be my big
score. If I hit the jackpot, I’ll retire and buy that boat I've had my eye on
and spend the rest of my days fishing in a tropical paradise.
Here’s the odd thing though… the idea of
fishing in a tropical paradise never entered my mind until I saw those coins.
Now, it’s Tuesday. It’s 10:18 a.m. and I’m
back at the General Store. I’m not even sure if I even like fishing or boats.
I've been travelling so much that the last thing I should want is to be on
water, in motion. But there’s just something that draws me here, an odd feeling
that I have to be here – that I need to be here.
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