I'm sitting on the
front porch to continue this story, evening coffee time—a soft rain
falling. It's nice not to be in it, and it slows down the
world a little. What happened to me after I was smashed like a tick
and scratched like a flea, and forgotten like a _____. Well, nothing.
Nothing Nothing Nothing. That's the worst thing that can happen. And
then... nothing happened. If I was a song, I'd be silent. If I was a
book, I'd be blank pages. If I was a TV show, I'd be cancelled. If I
was a movie, I'd be the trailer. If I was a marriage, I'd be
divorced. If I was a painting, I'd be gesso. If I was a poem, I'd be
blank verse. If I was a...
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