Here's another story about dashing. I'm an author and can write a book; my plan was to write a book about dashing and I even started it. It took off like a murder mystery. There was action, a body, things happening, etc.

Lately I've been in a groove on dashing. I work a few hours each night and it's always pretty lucrative. In fact I get a sense of peace from it, the city streets, the flow of traffic, the rhythms of the city.

Naturally I got a page or two into this book and then stopped. I didn't really have a plan. But also I was kind of bogged down. Lately the issue is really more fiction vs. non-fiction; I just had trouble combining them. Either it was true or not. I'm not really comfortable with half true, half not. Or with careful documenting of the dasher's scene side by side with a murder mystery which let's face it, Galesburg doesn't have that much of.

I've always enjoyed a good murder mystery and to me that's something I could probably write more of, and sink my teeth into, and get all wrapped up in and all. But when I rub too much hard reality into it (and let's face it, dashing is something I know, I get uncomfortable. Am I going to have to explain what's real and what's not, forever? I'd almost rather tell a story that is entirely real, then back off, and say, that's what I know, it sounds like a good story, but I don't know any better, or any more. I'm not comfortable attributing thoughts to real characters; I'm also not comfortable just making up characters and putting them in real environments. If I know the place, it's because I know the people too.

The last few weeks have been great dashing. That's because my absolute reliance on the money has abated a little; in other words, I could probably live without it if I had to. There are times when one has to wait, unexpectedly, for some order that is just taking them a little longer than most. At one point I saw this other dasher, a guy I know or have seen a few times, get very upset over waiting five or ten extra minutes. Dashing does tend to make you impatient when, let's face it, a few minutes aren't going to mean a whole lot in the big picture. But I've found myself lately much more patient; I look at the dining area of the place, knowing full well this is probably the closest I'll get to being here, and take it all in, and let them take as much time as they need. I'd rather the food be hot, and ready, and made to the best they can anyway, just because that makes happier people on the other end.

There was a bit of a crowd downtown the other day. Turns out, I think, that it was Taste of Galesburg, and, knowing what Taste of Chicago was like, I know it was probably good. I actually have taste of Galesburg every day, since I carry all kinds of good-smelling stuff all over the place. And I've gotten a pretty good sense of what is really good and what is just fast food; I've gotten a little more attuned to it. The thing about food is that because we need it every day we tend to forget about the value of its nutrition comparatively. Some of what I deliver is actually slow food, and I have to wait at the place routinely. And I almost never really know or even really pay attention to what exactly they are serving, or what the ingredients are. I get some sense, based on the names, and then on the smell. But basically I just take it where it's going. Through various intersections, through the roundabout, up into various neighborhoods. Lately the weather has been great, though I did get caught in that raging storm. But on a clear cool night, with a sunset, going over some of these railroads or someplace, I'm ok with Galesburg. Even when I'm stopped by a double train.