3. Turning left in albuquerque

Its hot today. must be somewhere close to 100. it's the kind of heat that feels like an oven, dry and unrelenting. the kind of heat that generates a cruel breeze that feels like a hairdryer blast in your face; the kind of day I anticipate all through spring and then come to dread as they stack up on the calandar all summer long, back to back, one melting into the next. I walk along on the blistering sidewalk, chasing the fickle shade, hoping for a tiny taste of salvation, obtaining none. I question my reasons for staying in this desert, long after i'd promised i'd go. Seattle - it's my next destination, my goal, my deliverance. A city filled with life, culture, and, ah yes, rain. I long for that today, the rain, I mean. everything else, i've been craving since I got back to this desert.. but here I am, walking along in my hometown thinking about the reasons i'm still here. I'm accutley aware of my reasons for staying; aware of my reason, I should say: my reason named tony. aware of his face, the sound of his voice, the way his hair smells so good... tony's fired up for seattle; he wants out of this desert too. wait, he tells me, please wait for me. he needs 'that kind' of commitment from me. so I wait, growing more restless with each passing second, my plans put on hold, my life idling away in neutral. he wants to get a job and sell his house and do all those things that rational people do before they pick up and leave. so here I am: hot and committed in the sweat box of a state in the middle of nowhere USA. Maybe tony's a good excuse to put this dream on hold, lest it should become a reality. in my fantasy, life is different in seattle, i'm a different person - bold, decisive, ambitious. Oh the person i'll become there! but in my rational mind, I know i'll still be the same person; i'll be doing or not doing the same things, only in different surroundings: me in the rain. still, I walk along. I see some brown glass on the sidewalk, the splintered remnants of a budweiser bottle, i deduce from the frayed and faded label. Suddenly I contemplate stepping right in the middle of the splintered pile of glass, hear in my mind the crunch beneath my feet, imagine the amber glass slicing through the thin rubber sole of my sandal, savour the sting of the glass as it enters my foot, puncturing the skin, burrowing into the flesh and muscle of my arch, feel my blood pouring hot and red out over my flipflop and onto the scorching sidewalk. Then I walk around the glass, too afraid to feel .feel anything but the sun on my back.

 
 

 
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