End

I cannot do this. Inspiration comes naturally to me. I find it in the sky, or a picture of a friend, or on the train, or even in the way people work and move. I see it constantly, rush home, and write all about it. I can never wait to sit at my desk and just scribble, for hours, about the things that move me through the day. And that is why this won't work. I'm not concerned with disappointing you, dearest reader. I am not at all. I would much rather give you something you can fall into, and love, than ramble on about a fictional character whom you will never meet. So, this is over. I'm not sure if I hope you enjoyed the ride because I'd much rather you agree with me. But it will make no difference; my decision is final. 

That being the case, I saw a photograph today...

* * *

We both come from the same place, you and I. We ran as fast as we could, with our heads down and our minds set for anywhere, because anywhere still would have been away from where we were. And that was just as good. Our legs burned and bled but we ran all the same. We ran so fast that we didn't bother looking up. I didn't bother looking up, and the way you smiled when we got to where we are said that you hadn't even glanced up once. I was very proud of you.

I saw a photograph today. It was of a girl we both know. She was standing on a cliff that hung over the edge of a world we've never seen. She was smiling because she had run just as hard; just as fast, I think. She had gotten to where she was going and, now, she's standing right where she wants to be.

We both come from the same place, you and I. We both ran, and we both got out alive. We may never see the world beyond our running shoes because the soles are tired and worn, and they won't take us much farther. But we have a cliff, and a world we know. We made it safely back home, you and I.

Part III

This is my work. This is what I do to put food in front of me. And, of course, it would have to be done in New York City, 'cause any other city wouldn't do me justice. 

*

When I was a kid my mother used to tell me that I could be anything I wanted. Little did I know all parents did that. It's almost like I could have had anyone's mother and it would have made no difference. I never held it against her, the lying I mean. I assume it was all out of good intention, but I would rather her tell me that I could not be whatever I wanted, because the world does not bend over and just wait for you to fuck it. It's not her fault though. I mean I wouldn't know, I don't have kids. We used to joke about how I would be all the things kids usually want to be. Things like a firefighter, or a policeman, or even a politician, but I never thought I would end up here. I've always had a knack for investigating. I remember, on Easter, my brother would get mad at me because I would always find all the eggs before him. So naturally I wound up here. 

I used to drink myself stupid and wonder what it would be like if I had been good at something else, something like fixing the stove or cleaning up when we took the Christmas tree out. I probably would be working for Maytag if that were the case, just 'cause there is no Santa. Maybe things worked out for the best, but I wouldn't know.