More more and then more

Sometimes you tell a story. Sometimes you want to take it back. Sometimes it's remembered much later. Sometimes it's not.

I stepped out of the drug store and into the warm summer air with a pack of batteries and two bars of soap in one hand. The receipt quickly crumbled in the other and found its way flying toward the nearest city trash can. A thoughtless walk led me down sixth avenue wondering about everything I could manage to fit into my head. It wasn’t much. Preoccupied. The street lamps towered above me, looking down at me with a warm light. It reminded me of my father, when I was young. He stretched above me. But the lights continued one after another lighting my way home.

Curious. Someone said my generation was not curious. Sometimes I think his generation is clueless.

Image. It's rough. It's almost no good. But it'll do for a day.



Video: An old favorite.