It took three buses for me to reach her apartment in Colerain Township, but I was on a mission. I was determined to get a piece of my property back. Walking up to her apartment door, I had purpose. I would be polite but I’d be direct. I wanted the damn book back.   

I felt tired walking up to Walgreens on a Tuesday morning in Covington. The night before, a barking dog kept me up until 2 in the morning. It was a vicious bark with practically no letup. I couldn’t figure it out. All around me are apartment buildings. Why would a dog be kept outside all night?  

This time of year, I tend to look out my window at the changing season. I notice that the leaves are starting to fall from the trees and there’s coolness in the air most mornings. Summer is almost gone and it’s time to prepare myself for the chilly winter season that will come much too soon.  

Anna called me one night around 9 o’clock. I knew she was calling me from a bar, could hear the jukebox in the background, could hear a Country song playing, which was almost louder than Anna. She was slurring her words when she asked me to join her. I couldn’t that night, but I agreed to meet her the following week.  

I’ve been living in Covington for a few weeks now. I’m still feeling my way around the area. As a writer, I keep a notebook of interesting things I see or memorable conversations I have. I’ve compiled some little Covington stories to share with you.  

Gun people: I don’t pretend to understand them. I don’t relate to people who carry guns, collect them or shoot them. To me, guns encourage violent behavior and are a danger to society. I shot a gun once back when I was 11 or 12 years old. Living in the country, my father let me shoot his gun into a field. I remember the shot being loud and me falling down as the gun went off. It was scary.  

Would it shock the hell out of you that a 57-year-old man would love Amy Winehouse’s music? I do. When I found out she died late last month I played her Back to Black CD over and over again. Winehouse had a unique, soulful voice and was one of the best songwriters ever. For those of us who followed her, it was a sad day when she left us.  

I was playing my mandolin just like I do on most early evenings. Playing this musical instrument, which I’ve been playing since I was a child, relaxes me. On this particular evening, it was making me sad. As I played, thoughts went through my mind that this would be the last time I’d be playing the mandolin in Westwood. The following day was moving day. I was making a change in my life and moving to Covington.  

About 20 minutes into the phone conversation, I started to feel annoyed. I was tempted to light up another cigarette. But, trying to cut back, I didn’t. My mind raced to excuses I could make to wrap up her nonstop talking. This wasn’t supposed to happen.  

Last week, I had a little time to kill before an afternoon appointment, so I went to Fountain Square to hang out for a while. Sitting at a table, I listened in on a conversation two young girls were having at another table to my left. “I haven’t seen Paul in over two days,” the girl with the dark hair said. “I miss him so much; love him so much, I can’t stand this much longer.”