On days like today, when only my mind escapes the concrete truck's dump, I so need that reach of humanity. Even when the mushiness of my mind prevents timely responses, I want to read the echos of the world
Make me laugh. Make me think. Make me smile.
Above me lies - again - a boring white ceiling. Imagine the Twitters, the statuses, the feeds floating across in ink-jet perfection. 72 point? Or larger?
This distraction that could render useless the need for yet another numbing pill on days when holding the iPhone hurts as much as carrying your world.
But like the old man who remembers his roof leaks only when it is raining, these ideas of constructive distraction come only when I am incapable of implementing. Unlike the old man in the fiddle performance, the conversation is one sided. The only sound comes from the iPhone - until the battery dies or someone who can move comes home.
I watch from afar as the world starts to sleep, imprisoned by playing a normal person yesterday.
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