Collector
I pried it open.My fingers gripped onto the smooth enamel. I pulled and tugged. It snapped and popped as it loosened. Finally it was free. I held it in my hand. Thick blood droplets splattered the surface. I'll add this to the collection.
White rabbit.
Austin, 2014. An idea was born into the streets. Two men walking, teeth dry from the ways of liquor. One stares in front. Downtown festival. Talks to the city ahead, but to the one walking next to him.
I have an idea for an app.
Small city, the grey heat. Overcast no match. No hope to burn off the film from the damage last night. Hotel lounge, hair of the dog. The city had grown, and they were strangers now, each waiting to leave there, one by plane, one by car and dog. Talks of Prose., the font. Talks of why it would work, a family the size of a world. Strangers yet not quite. Revolt against apathy. Earned things, lost in paces too fast to retain soul, to keep their light. Drinks and words, the lobby bar turned museum for the old death of the words eaten by technology. A way out through a way back in.
We are all here now.
Thank you for being here with us.
Thank you.