I learned the word “concupiscible” the other day… I had to look it up. It means worthy of desire. I’m walking along the highways in the upstate, but I’m magnetically charged and pointing at you over two hundred miles away. Here where I share a roof with all these strangers, where I’m alone, but in reality only by feet. This is where we’ll sleep, our keys the only evidence that we belong here. The third pint goes down before the sun, and I’m well more than walking to my bed. I’m in a strange town relying on machines to show me around. Cash poor but reckless and equipped to the gills in credit, ready to out pace my shyness and shame.

The anonymity of the road and the collective rooves of the hotels. The few random strained interactions when you pass one another in the hallway— yes, I know you are sleeping here two. Behind the tracts and rows of the same door repeated over and over around the curves. The individual universes blooming there for a single night.

Broke into the Bi Lo center with some locals to steal beer and piss in trash cans. Currently evaluating my worth as a person.

Trying the same technique, bit with nowhere to test the waters. No sign of what I would consider to be my people. Nothing similar….

Powering off the devices, and I can’t hide behind my shades any longer. Fake it, fake it. Wake up and be in the place. Oh. There ios assigned seating. Oooops.

Image intentionally blurred to avoid accidental endorsements.

The finger print story is only partially true. Were I to look at your fingerprints, I would recognize them. I would know they were yours, even j7st scanning them superficially. All of the faces around me now belong to other people whom I have met or encountered, but who are not here now. The car insurance company who is shifting gears to capitalize on the unexpected sexiness of their slightly geeky spokeskitten. Not to be confused with my own corporate sponsor, to whom I owe thanks for my current position here as a stranger in a bar far from home. The instict kicks back in, and I begin composition of the greatest monument to isolation ever concieved of in the hearts and minds of humanity. And no… it won’t appear on these pages. Only allusions to its greatness could take root here. Oh, the fiction. May the fruits of my newfound isolation ripen to unhinged succulence properly and quickly. And may the lord forgive me for my prejudice against the residents of this fair state.

…of the cops and the wnadering and the cab ride home. I can at least imagine how it went from there. That look across the bar really hammered it home. Thank God her car looks just like mine. Thank God her car looks just like mine. Thank God her car looks just like mine. …And I made it home just fine. There’s three more hours I just harvested frome the clouds that fill my mind.

Seven minutes and the bubbling up scratch and scratching impatience. there is no eternity longer nor more difficult to fill.