A pedestrian attempts to slip a coat over his lofty outstretched arms as a train passes by carrying oranges from Florida that will never be squeezed because there is a war going on inside his head. Right now he’s fighting for sanity over the size of the coat and not being able to bring down his arms to rest inside its sleeves. Never mind that he burned down a bridge a mile down the road and the train is heading straight towards it. For now, the coat is the only thing driving him mad. The pedestrian does not live in the moment.
Or does he?
A writer slips a short word into a lengthy sentence as a thought passes through other thoughts on its way to making a better finish to a story. It sticks to the page just long enough to be used as a catalyst to yet another thought. The word is good enough for now but the writer is fighting with his lack of vocabulary to make the story more relatable. Never mind that he deleted many words to get to the word that fits for now. For him, the word is just a reminder. The writer does not remember where the story is going.
Or does he?
The pedestrian is a large man in a small coat who uses a large part of his brain less and less with each destructive behavior, each shameless encounter. He is running away from each bridge he burns while walking towards the uncertainty of his needs. He wants everyone to feel his pain.
Or does he?
The writer uses his brain in large part to contemplate complex issues he has with the world but with little contact and zero effort at caring for the needs of those out of touch. He is trying to make a good story better so those who are in reach will not miss the opportunity to heal as well. He wants all of them to heal with him.
Or does he?
Francis Erich McElroy 