I’ve said too much already. Are you still there? I’ve said too much. There’s not else left much to say. I’ve gone done run through my vocabulary three times. No more words. Nothing new. Too much. No? Not enough? Too much? A spider bites down on his right testacle. Maybe there is still unpublished words we can publish to make up for the nothing. I’m just not feeling it right now. That’s all. I’m uncomfortably uninspired. I’m using the wrong medium.
“This is the hour,” he told himself. He tells himself as he lights a long skinny cigarette. The end burns & smoke is inhaled. A woman watches him in the distance, her right shoulder lined with red dress leans against the grit of an aged, brickened building gone seen too many nights just like this. “This has got to be it…” the lips tighten & pull to the burning end. His movement triggers a light to be seen by the woman. She sees the smoke rise. He feels the smoke inhaled. Busy. The cloud of his efforts is seen. “That irrefutable thing…” he continues to voice, now inside, out against the wall with the red lined woman now approaching his front. He turns away from her & begins to walk away from her. She pleads for him, “hey mister,” sounds of hastened movement follow, “mister, mister…” He pauses. She pauses. He turns his head. The shadows. She stretches out her arm. Her fist is closed. Her fist uncloses. A dollar bill. The wind takes the bill from her. The man lets it pass. “Thank you, but no thanks, ” the now stranger says as he turns away again. He turns & he tips his hat & he turns, “that irrefutable thing, what is it, what must I do, how must I live to see that day of the irrefutable doing. I rather would die here in the serious calm knowing I’ve out & done pursued it to the best of my ability. And to have achieved and overcome despite the falling short. It’s not my time yet but it will….” & as he walks she follows, “mister….” And at what point will the distractions end. Will it even be a point? Her dress begins to fall & he hears it drop. Bills begin to pour out from her vagina. “Not another vagina story!” someone says. The thing is, the thing about it is there is a concern, “I am concerned. Not so much with the direction but with the options behind me, & the concern of what they would do if I turned around & accepted the things in which the real interest is absent. I am altogether concerned I won’t make it all the way to the promise land though I know we are headed right for it.” Mister….mister….