Six a.m.

For those of you wondering when the city awakens and adorns its hustle-n-bustle persona, I can confirm that, at least on the streets of south Minneapolis, it's still asleep at 6:00 a.m.

Nope, not many folks up and about. But we were.

Up and down our street, dark houses. And while last night I dreaded the full hour earlier we'd both have to rise this morning, it actually wasn't bad. (Go figure.) No doubt the jumbo coffee I'm slurping helped.

On the way to South, we didn't pass even one car. We saw no people on the street. It was way cool, like we owned the city. Like we were responsible for flipping the switch and setting the day in motion.

Soon, I drop my boy off, saying the things I say to him every morning at this point, that I love him and to have a great day. (Because he's sleepy and a teenager, I have reason to believe this irritates the crap out of him, but I'm hoping he'll look back on it warmly when he's an adult.)

I watch his zombie-like shuffle, first to Door 1 (locked), then to Door 3 to the band room. When he's in, I drive off, singing along to Jazz 88 in my jazziest voice. (The coffee's really kicked in.)

At this point in the story, it's 6:20 a.m. and the streets are alive with cars and people are waiting at bus stops, many smoking (yuk, gross), some huddled in groups. I decide it best to heed what the orange indicator light is telling me, so I pull into the the new Holiday station on Cedar. It's lit up like Vegas. I consider putting on my shades (I don't).

About $30 later, I have a full tank. On the way, I see...

to be continued...