On the Way

Frederick sits a bus to New York hoping to arrive to a red carpet and an adventure in a strange place. He imagines as he escapes to a place in his mind where his demons and angels and werewolves and zombies and childhood all scream at the top of their lungs on a far away playground, that it will be welcoming. He thinks of the women he "knows" he won't meet and wonders about how he'll ask them their names. There is a hope in his eyes the size of Indiana and if his face were a map, thats just about where the heartland would be.

He is full of speculation about the future. The ride is an escape that he has been dreaming of without dreaming. He had no idea he needed the time to himself so desparately. Life has been jerking him around lately, but then it's the only way he knows that life is still there. I guess he can take solace in knowing that it hasn't forgotten about him or moved on to the next one. He still plans to meet life with a fist to the jaw, perhaps, he thinks, he'll buy life a drink after and catch up on old times. Its a wonder what machinations one starts to birth while riding anonymously down an American highway.

There is a memory there. An unfortunate happenstance that he cannot afford to remember but can't seem to forget. He balances on the periphery of desire and need for space from the past and the love and loss there. The future is a great salesman and always gets it's way. He thinks it's funny how often it tries to win you over with it's great features and discount rates as if it wasn't as necessary as air. The Future always wins, but it enjoys the idea that it's convinced you to come along, as if it too has no control. Perhaps it believes life is a collaboration between it and all of it's clients, that regardless of what it says will buy and will die, eventually, from overuse.