Maternalfigureeighttimesaweeklyreader

Sarah Vowell's " Assassination Vacation" & Future of the Left. A well-rounded insomniac pairing.

Punkrockgraphichaircutstshirtchevymalibu.....

Coffee...

Black, two shots of espresso. A touch of cinnamon, not too much, but just enough.

Shots fired, a siren fast approaching. Seems like years ago, now only 129 minutes away.

I remember not owning glasses when I first arrived. I'd drink whiskey out of an old coffee can. Bits of cheap, generic house roast floating atop a shot and then some of $4.95 Tennessee's most...well, bearable. I'd write letters home that'd I'd never mail out.

" Hey, the weather's fine out here. Glad the move worked out. Wish you were here. Take plenty of pictures, I'll be home soon."

The years leading up to this; the planning, the going, the leaving, and the arrival. They've done their work. It's beginning to pay off.

Baldness, lethargy. Irritability. Tobacco doesn't taste as sweet. I catch myself turning back the hands of a clock I never bothered to look at before. I look at my hands. Weathered. Cracked. Like I've been shoveling hard earth. Maybe I have. Digging myself out...or, digging myself deeper in.

Found a lover. Found a hammer. Found a pot and a window. Every now and then, I'll stop fast in front of a mirror, and for a quick second, I catch my reflection. I catch seconds and they take minutes, hours, days, weeks, years....reel yourself in, big fish. That pond'll drag you under quick, son. Be wary of the undertow.

We need leads, leads! A new direction! The director, he's a hack and needs to be silenced! Drop the actors, we'll use extras! Disposable faces, we're in it for the " reality" of the moment. The momentum of the thoughts, words, actions, deeds, blinding lights, flashing, pulsating, inducing epileptic fits of clairvoyance!

( No, that's just a lack of oxygen to your brain.)

Now I look at where I am. I stand northwest. Houses ahead of me, home behind me. The church bells chiming along with each new hour. The crucifixes are golden. I remember once stating that the Devil had a lacquered finish, but that's neither confirmed or denied.

All I know is, at the end of the day, I finally have someone to go home to--

---and that's saying a fucking lot.