I'm alone in City Council chambers, waiting for photographs to be pulled off Charlottesville Tomorrow's camera. I have one image I need to illustrate tonight's story but this isn't my usual computer so I'm having to wait until it pulls all of the images into Photoshop.
It's almost ten. Council ended early tonight. I filed right at the deadline and now I'm waiting to finish up my night. I don't know what I'll do next.
I could go out for a beer and to hear some music, but I did that last night.
I could go to my house, but I really don't want to. My housemates are there, and I suspect they may be in a fight and I don't want to go there. It's not home.
Court Square is closed tonight, so I can't go there. The owner may be there, but I don't really want to hang out with him. Likewise, I don't want to go to my office because I spent the end of my evening there last night once a dinner party concluded and I had to take care of a few things before the work week began.
So, I'm sitting here and I'm not in any particular hurry. Council is in closed session to discuss the cost-share agreement for Rivanna Water and Sewer Authority capital projects.
How many things have been decided in this room? I've been witness to so many milestones in my four and a half years of reporting on local government, too many to name and I'm not too terribly interested in writing about those. How many people have I seen here, waiting for their turn to speak?
My favorite time was on a night I didn't come here at all, but covered it from my house. A woman and her friend got up with a guitar and sang a song to convince the city to adopt a peace resolution. I remember joking with reporters about Flicker the Flame, the mascot designed to raise awareness of how dangerous natural gas can be if it's not used properly.
I'll likely spend a lot more time in here. I enjoy covering council, as I enjoy all of these various things I do in the name of reporting the news. Sometimes it can be frustrating, but for the most part 21-year-old me would be glad I'm doing what I trained to do.
How many more stories, how many more characters, how many more themes? I guess the only way to find out is to keep writing.
Striking down the mundane and dastardly while retaining a certain obscure turn of phrase, denoting something elusive yet concrete.
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