(first of all, thanks for reading. second, the following entry was written on the fly, on the pier, with some beer, it is less than perfect; but we're all friend here? third, the broken link to the story "a list" is now operative. forth, goodbye. five, news to anyone who orders the COMMONPLACE volume one book: your orders will henceforth pass through the hands of my mom and dad. they will be licking your envelopes, and it's still only !$5, click to order it here, I MADE IT MYSELF. six, I'm really scared about going to Costa Rica by myself. I wish I had a lover.)

---m. p. w.

I am on the end of the pier where I grew up. I am drinking a beer and typing on my laptop which I'm not bringing to Costa Rica, though I bought it for that express purpose. I've never drank a beer out on this pier. I was a little kid when I hung out here 15 hours a day. Then I grew up and went to away to college, slept in the dorms, graduated, got a job, decided to leave for Costa Rica, met my Greek woman, spent some days in the dorms, and now I'm back on the pier. Notice the bookends.

I'm not bringing my computer, but I'm glad I bought it because I get to type out here where the weather is soft like a quick kiss goodbye. There is no water in the Caloosahatchee River. It dries up at low tide. I haven't been here for 3 years and there's a new shelf of shells forming a hundred yards from the channel, a hook-shaped patch of white. There don't seem to be any fish around. I saw one snook. There used to be mas pescados, even when the tide was non-existent, we'd pull our crabtraps up and they were gorged with sheepshead and stingrays and crabs and a shark one time. I caught a saw bill shark three times out here. Insane. But now it's so quiet and almost dead. Still pretty though.

Tomorrow I leave for Costa Rica. I don't even know what time the plane takes off because my parents know all the times; I know I'll get there. I am an infant when they are around, an infant that doesn't get along with them.

We sat in my mom's little travel agency, just her and sorting out my travel business, in the cramped quarters I told her, "When I'm here with you guys I feel like nothing bad can happen to me."

"Because we take care of you," she stated with appreciation.

"Uh huh, but it's kind of a scary feeling. I like to feel my mortality a little ALL the time."

She didn't say anything. We sat in silence. The agency is small, but it's to the nines. The airfreshener smell is too much of a good thing. But she needs it to cover up the smoke. She sits in that small, well-decorated office with hundreds of full color breuschures, and smokes and sprays and covers it up and smokes and sprays and covers it up.

On my way out of the travel agency, I kissed her on the forehead. I haven't kissed her in years. The week has been full of firsts. My mom and dad are doing so much to help me. Compulsively. It's riling. I hate it. They force it on me, and only at times when I'm too desperate to say no. It helps so much. I hate it.

And then she's spooking me the whole time. Telling me I'll fail. I'm really scared. I'm so scared. I've never been anywhere. Except this pier where I now type on my laptop.

But outside my mom, I think I'll be O.K., judging from the string of luck I've had. Of course, my Greek woman was a goodbye present from Florida and God, but ALL the locks are opening for me. My mother wouldn't give me a copy of the house key. She was afraid I would lose it. I had tons of tasks to undertake before leaving some time tomorrow, whenever, probably the morning I think since I have to fly to Miami first, I think.

Leaving to take care of business , I accidentally locked myself out of their condo and my truck was in their airtight garage. I had no vehicle. I panicked, but found a mysterious unlocked door in the back. Lots of this kismet lately. Charms, Signs.

I was given a sign that I should not bring my laptop. From what I understand, Costa Rica, San Jose in particular, is like a video game where you are the star caricature and the object is to not get your shit stolen from you. So I've been in conflict with myself. I decided not to bring it.

Still unsure of my decision, I went out to Sanibel Island with the laptop, to write and drink at a bar where I was to meet a friend from a pleasant part of my childhood, and her boyfriend, a smart man. She's a writer now. She was always vaguely powerful. I have no writer friends, so I looked her up. She's living on the island again after some years in Maine and Boston and New York. We all love Sanibel Island. It is the best part of my childhood; raping the beaches of all its sea life, horse conchs, fighting conchs, angel wings, under my mom's tutelage.

Last time I was on the island I was a virgin. Sanibel reminds me of virginity. And I didn't drink till after I had sex. Sex was the gateway drug. My first vodka and orange juice on Sanibel was sweet. Another first for the week.

The rest of the people on Sanibel are old. There is no sex going on on Sanibel. My friend from childhood and her smart boyfriend and I smoked on the windy beach and in an epiphany, I decided I would name my daughter Sanibel.

Then I drove home. Halfway I realized I'd left my laptop in her car. I cried out. I calmed down and talked to myself and decided it was a sign; I would have done the same thing, carelessly set down my $2000 computer, in Costa Rica.

I drove back to her house to get the computadora. I was drunk and I had to pay another $3 to get back over the bridge and onto the island. I only had $2. "I was just over there." I told her. She wouldn't let me in for $2, she made fill out some paperwork. But I felt good, like I had made a good decision by abandoning the laptop dream.

I crept through the silent backstreets and Sanibel neighborhoods drowning in pine needles. I saw the house of the first girl I ever loved who didn't love me back. I drove down the street where her and I almost rolled my car over the ramped back of a 15-foot alligator.

When I found my friend's house, no one would answer my knocking. There was sexy music on inside. It was 2:45 a.m. Someone may have been having sex on Sanibel. I knocked again. Nothing. But they were home.

I crawled down through the trees and stairs to her SAAB in the dark pine needle driveway. Her car was unlocked. I creeped in and took my laptop out and pondered hard the difference: everyone is safe on the island. Sanibel reminds me of my mom.

Goodbye until I can find an internet cafe.

(click here to post your opinions on this s(h)ite. --- Ed.)