... ..the anticlimax of being ....May 2, 2004   I rustle open the Sunday paper and check the lottery numbers.  For the 93rd week in a row, not one of my numbers was selected.  I've still got it!   The rest of the news is anticlimactic. The breeze outside is cool and, upon it, I hear bumpy zydeco from a local festival.  I will not attend the festival.  People gather there. It does not bother me to be alone.  Sometimes, I am bothered by the absence of bother.  But this passes.  Quickly.  I cannot say another word; I cannot listen.  I can think, but I'd rather not.  I be.  And that is enough. previous..|..current..|..archives..|..2d quarter index..|..next

©  2004 by the beastmaster