Fast Potato

The speed of light is 299,792 km per second. Raging fast. So fast it's indescribable, and any effort to's a waste.

I was on a greyhound to Montreal last night when a wild turkey smacked against the windshield and shattered the entire right frame leaving a spheric shaped dent the size of a watermelon in the glass. I thought it was a gunshot. Yup. In the middle of Cassleman, giant crucifixes erected in endless pastures, and I was dead sure it was a bullet.

I don't suppose you feel like writing? Perhaps you can, and I'll dictate while I think these words and breathe these final breathes before i give in to these eyelids, extra heavy. I'm thinking about radios and televisions. About couches and long walks. About conversation and close talk. About my blood and your blood, and blood that is the same. About nothing at all, and everything.

Why do I find myself in these situations over and over again? In an instant - a pull the trigger, drop the gloves, set the razor to the skin instant - it begins. My love for the stranger. Not so much a complete stranger, but an amalgamation of character traits I've already thought up and assigned.

I wonder if I'll ever see #12 again? Grade 5 probability says it's likely.

The speed of light is not that fast.