The pendulum has swung and the dog doesn’t have a tick. Adjustment. Chiropractic. Analytic. Scrub the walls and sweep the floor. The city is on fire with guns and the haves are running for the woods. Blue towel hanging where the blind cord goes. Games in the group chat. Forced writing this morning, as has been the case so many mornings before.
There was the one hundred word exercise with the guy that I thought was my friend. Turns out that’s not the case and the work and the title are more important. Perspective. Everyone tending their own lawn. A street full of road bikes. A gutter full of cars. Coffee, flower, eggs. Mow the lawn and go fuck yourself. Waist-high weeds. Crumbling concrete steps. Grape vines taking over the shrubs. Butterfly. Flutter by. Butter burger. Yellow dog. Aging infrastructure. It’s like I never worked there.
You’ll never understand the depths of the depression until you get down in it and spend some time there yourself. A round of golf won’t cure it. A better job with a bigger paycheck won’t solve it. Another bike or a fishing pole or a new shirt won’t reconcile it. Nothing can undo it except time and eventually even that runs out.
Sunshine. Porch. Wildlife. Expired appetite and some paint missing that looks like a heart. Garbage truck times two. A city bus. Nobody reads this. Nobody cares. Dirt bike. Fat bike. Semi-truck. White car, black car, broken down van. Short sleeves under a grey vest. Capitalism will have you working two jobs to get by. Call it.