The Night Not Envisioned

Hope is the fools crutch and isolation is life.

Imagine.

Mark and I are sitting on a park bench along the bayou connecting over our insatiable need to visit the Lakes & the Peaks so often written about in the Romantic period. How Tolkein & Lewis critiqued each others work over a pint at the local pub. Neither of them liked the others work too much. He tells me some fantastical story about the time he ran into JD Salinger in Connecticut. Mark says JD is unassumingly indifferent. Neither of us really knows what that means, but we love the phrase regardless.

We visit Mom & Dad in the 'burbs. They both think we're flaming liberals, even though neither of us have ever voted a straight Democratic ballot. Dad doesn't mind. He's excited about the Shiraz we picked up at Spec's for $23.17 as discount card holders. Mom's pretty much just happy that I finally have someone that can appreciate my idiosyncratic quirks. Better known as my geekiness and irritating disposition. Dad's worried that we spend too much money. Neither of us like 401K talk, even though we both know much better.

We spend the weekends in our run down Heights house that we both love. The floors are in horrible shape. Mark gets a little perturbed when I've been on the phone too long with Jules and he's still on hands & knees sanding 1500 sq ft of 70 yr old floors. It's nothing one of my famous donut smiles can't fix. I spend too much money on vintage cloth I found at High Fashions. It will be perfect for the music room. We sit in a cool corner of the living space, backs towards one another and drink a beer. Nothing fancy. A Shiner. We sit and drink beer for hours...not saying too much, but living peacefully in the connectedness that is.


Imagination is the devils workshop.