Wednesday, July 7, 2010

with thanks to 1925

Then my memories just start disappearing. I remember the tastes of burnt coffee and warm beer, the scent of a roasting hog and the sound of the lawn mower, but I couldn't tell you if I live in a house or in an apartment, whether or not I'm married, whether or not I have kids, or what state I live in. If my arms didn't hurt quite so badly (and I'm beginning to suspect my wrists just might be tied together) then I'd reach into my back pocket for my wallet and verify these particulars with a glance at my driver's license and business card. Come to think of it, my legs might be tied together, too, and back in elementary school I was always the losing team of the three legged race, so even if I could stand up I probably wouldn't be going anywhere, if I knew where I was, or where I might want to be headed.

"I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library. -- The Great Gatsby / Fitzgerald

is there any greater summer joy than a knotted rope, a riverside, a leap into the cold depths?