I pick up the mail at the post office at 6:30 am on my way to the zendo. My eyes immediately find the right box, in the midst of rows and columns of boxes. It's dark and the building echos my squeaky footsteps.

On the way out I buy the NYT and pickup the Coast weekly to see what new movies are coming into town on Friday.

The rain is coming down and my fleece jacket gets wet. I don't own an umbrella. I am not sure why.