This town is getting ready for the Olympics. Streets are closed everywhere. People with plastic badges walk around in light blue coats. The construction projects on campus are all frantically trying to finish.
The man who sells me meat asks if I’m excited. I tell him I’m leaving town. He doesn’t look surprised. I don’t know why I would be excited. Maybe I’m just an old curmudgeon.
Back home friends ask me if I’m going to any events. I tell them no, I’m going home. They inform me it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. They’re probably right, but I just paid tuition today, and I have a hard to finding room in the budget for a hockey game; even Kazakstan vs Belarus is too expensive.
I don’t think about the Olympics much. I’ve got papers to ignore, and Greek participles to cuss at. I don’t have much time to worry about people in unitards flying down frozen waterslides on a fancy sled.
It’s been unseasonably warm the last few weeks. The trees are catching on. Up and down my street their starting to bud. A friend told me they saw a cherry blossom in full bloom on the Eastside. The trees don’t seem to care much that it’s the Winter Olympics. I couldn’t agree more.