I'm staying at the crossroad. The crossroad to where? The crossroad of life. It's a tiny section of society, but it's represented by all: the goth waitress, with a bounce in her step, that brings a smile to the old fry cook; standing outside the door of the Waffle House; smoking a cigarette, musing on life.
What's their story? Where have they been? What interesting conversation awaits over a cup of coffee; a small moment to reflect, reminisce, find a common thread and find the bond that glues us all together?
What about the elderly gentleman? He's retrieving something from his car; the back seat is a closet rod, including feminine clothes that are not his. Is his wife along for the journey? Is it another family member? Maybe he's decided escape with his mistress and make one last stab at life before it's all over?
Who knows? I gather a lifetime of questions, with only a short glance, on a warm evening, with the seagulls crying and the sound of a siren in the background. All is well, but nothing is complete. It goes on forever and I can only stand, watch and wonder.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.