Early morning Nirvana, I’ve been in a 1990’s phase, my feet rhythmically pounding pavement, the puppy leads a few steps ahead. Suburban sun bleached landscape, mid sized sedans and minivans rush by at forty five miles per precious hour. Retreating to your childhood home, locking yourself in a tower high above like Rapunzel who won’t let her hair down, none of it is so bad.
I cover ground as I think of everything and nothing, quickly passing by not yet open for business big box monoliths. How long had it been? The winters we spent together blur together, lukewarm memories drifting by.
I lock myself inside the confines of that those 10 by 10 foot room where I traveled my untroubled youth, drinking in dirty Russian novels. It’s the same place my friend Chris and I nervously talked about nothing until the sun came up the next day, where we nurtured an un-confessed attraction that has lasted until now.
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