I never quite trusted autumn. It had this annoying habit of never quite fulfilling the promises it made.

Which would have been fine, actually, if they didn’t often come so close. I would nearly win the race. I would nearly get there on time. I would nearly be seen by my favorite drummer. But just… close enough was still so far away. Having the almost hurt more than anything.

Therefore, when my interview lined up for the end of autumn, rather than in the beginning of winter when I had thought they would get back to me, I felt like giving up.

“Don’t do that,” my wife scolded.

She should have known better. She had been slammed by autumn as much as I had. Though part of me wondered if it was just me, or if she simply hadn’t been observant of it before meeting up with me.

Nevertheless, she used the lint roller on my jacket to get rid of all the cat hair and sent me on my way. Here it was, the perfect interview that would appear to go well.

Part of me wanted to sabotage it so it couldn’t even be close. I smiled.

I could wait long enough, for winter to bring me its luck.