A Precarious State

Songs. Parts of town. Words and phrases. Foods. Movies. Articles of clothing. Fish. Streets. Sunny days. The wind and rain. Bus stops. Wine. The colors of shoes. The curvature of noses. Bars. Bands. Ducklings. Topics of conversation. Countries. States. City blocks. Subway lines. 

They soak you up. And can so easily be poisoned. 

Go Ahead, Come Back From The Dead

If you're ever in a doorway on a city street when it is nighttime and cool, and you open your eyes after keeping them shut a long while, and men carrying a Chinese dragon home from a parade shuffle by in loose formation, and you see the dragon's teeth and nostrils and all those ornate segments down to the tip of its tail one at a time, and something celebratory and post-celebratory falls on you and covers you and confuses you, and you close your eyes again after the procession has gone, losing every last atom of yourself, maybe time will stop for you, too.

Screeching Tires Sound Like Seagulls

Crossing the intersection with a hundred things on my mind, in a forest green rain slicker because the sky looked moody. Thinking to myself, fight or flee, clutch or release, stay or go. Smoking, smoking, smoking. So tired. And a car screeched behind me. And it sounded like seagulls.

Never Filthy Or Slovenly

And just like that, I smiled. The sour mood that had settled in late this morning budged and started to give way. All thanks to finding a Copy Cop Performance Appraisal (dated January 6, 2000) in a pile of things I had started to throw away.

"The customers are very fond of him because of his charming demeanor and his attentiveness. His dress is frequently casual but never filthy or slovenly. It fits his personality well and puts the customers at ease."

It made me feel much better.