There is a spectrum upon which we sit. It is a spectrum that bows under the weight of an inordinate number of things and feelings.
A man with sunglasses drives his convertible. Strapped to the “roof” is a canoe. Whatever floats your boat, brother.
A bearded man rides a menacing motorbike, chasing the canoe and car.
This morning, a deathly old lady asked me, “is it good?” while looking at the toast I was eating in the café. Her pallor was historic…
Today I saw two old men in a café sitting opposite each other looking sideways at an automatic door as it opened and closed. They smiled as it almost shut then opened again for no apparent reason. They said nothing to each other and avoided eye contact as they continued to sip their…
