I deleted the app four times

The first one was March. Or after March, because I'd already moved into the place off Himes and the mattress was still on the floor, and that mattress was on the floor till almost June. So March. Somewhere in there.

I never put a picture on it. I made the thing and then I just looked at it for four days. Didn't write to anybody. I'd open it in the walk-in with the door cracked, and then on the fifth day I got rid of it.

That's the whole first one. Nothing happened.

Second one was June. It was June because Marisol called out and we were already short on the line, so I closed and then turned around and opened, and after all that I'm sitting in my truck in the lot at two in the morning with the engine going for the AC. You can't sit in a truck here in June with the engine off. And I put it back on my phone right there with the motor running.

Some guy sent me a picture before he said hi. Before anything. I was off it in about ten minutes and I hadn't even pulled out of the lot.

Third one was October. November maybe. And that one I had for eleven weeks, which I know because I counted it later.

His name was Marcus. Or that's what he had on there. I never got a last name and I never gave him mine. He worked nights too, overnight freight at a place out by the airport, so we were up the same hours. Nobody else is up.

Six weeks ago I'm on the couch, the one I bought off a guy in Brandon when I moved in, the cushion that slides out, and I'm putting it back on there and Emma's drawing from Easter is still up on the fridge.

That's the last one though. I'm still on the October one.

He had one picture on there. Him in a parking garage with his shirt off. I looked at that probably twice a shift.

We talked about nothing. I told him about the hood cleaners who came at two and left the filters out in the rain. He had a dog that wouldn't eat unless somebody was standing in the room with it. He told me about the dog more than once. Eleven weeks of that.

He asked twice. First time I didn't answer till the next day. Second time I said okay.

He was in Seminole Heights. Danielle's sister is on Ola. Four streets over.

I drove out there on a Tuesday. Tuesday's my night, it's the one night the store doesn't need me. Gray Elantra in the carport. Porch light on, and one of those white plastic chairs out front with a towel over the back of it.

I parked about a house and a half down and I sat there.

I don't know how long. Long enough that the same woman walked the same dog past me twice, so it was at least however long that takes. And the whole time I'm sitting there I'm thinking about the walk-in, it was going out again and the parts guy was supposed to come Wednesday and I never called him back, shit, I don't even know why I'm telling you about the walk-in.

My phone lit up on the seat and it said you here, and I picked it up and typed yeah just parking and then I took it back out letter by letter and put the phone face down.

I had my hand on the door for a while. Then I didn't.

I drove home on the Selmon and I got rid of it at the light at Kennedy before I was even on my street. You press and hold and it asks if you're sure, it tells you it'll delete the data too, and I stood on it and the icons slid over.

He never wrote again. He couldn't have.

Fourth one was six weeks ago.

I don't have a reason for that one. I wasn't even in a bad stretch. The store was fine, my DM's been off my back since we got the Q2 stuff sorted out. It was a Sunday, Emma was at her mom's, and I put it back on there like I said and then didn't talk to anybody for two weeks. Just looked at it. Same as the first one.

Then Thursday I've got her and we're coming back from her mom's on Hillsborough, past the Sonic, and she's in the back with her tablet. There was a hair tie of hers on the gearshift. And I'd said something at dinner about maybe having plans Friday. A friend, I said. I didn't have anything Friday.

And she goes, is your friend coming to my thing Saturday.

That's the whole question. She's nine. Everybody she hears about is coming to the thing. The thing was a soccer game where they don't keep score and the parents stand on the sideline in camp chairs. Grandma's coming to the thing.

I said no. She said okay, and then asked me to put her song on, the one she's had going since February.

We went two exits and I put my blinker on for nothing and turned it off again.

I did it that night after she went down.

Takes nine seconds. I've never timed it.

Produce truck comes at four.