Echoes of the Garage

Fragments of life in Los Angeles — art, film, street stories, and the quiet rebuilding of a man. Start here: Best Of • About • Subscribe.


“It’s not the accident. It’s the waiting.” 


📓 May 19, 2026 — 6:03 p.m.

I’m in the front house restroom.

The rest-room.

I guess that’s the joke.

Earlier I was in the recliner with my eyes closed trying to reset my brain.

Then the phone hit me:

“You have a delivery.”

Earlier today I dropped off a Fight Club 4K steelbook at Whole Foods.

That’s the Amazon return spot.

The case spine was falling apart the moment I took off the plastic wrapping.

I did a few deliveries after that.

Now I’m back home about to eat.

My mom is in her yellow Boss Lady shirt serving me beans.

Guacamole in front of me.

I can smell the onion inside it.

And in the background of all of it…

I feel nervous.

My van got hit while it was parked a couple of weeks ago.

It’s going to get fixed, but it’s still a pain.

The bureaucracy.

Witnesses.

Cameras.

Me not even being in the car.

It’s not the accident that messes with you.

It’s the waiting.

My body did that thing where it goes numb from sitting too long.

Legs tingling.

Like my nervous system saying:

“Not yet.”

So here I am.

On the toilet.

Phone buzzing.

Trying to choose between the part of me that wants to rest…

and the part of me that always answers.

I want to say no.

I want to do what I want to do.

💬 Reader question

What’s your version of “not yet” — the moment your body says it before your mouth does?

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If this felt real… I write small real moments like this.



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