The Parachute
Got hardly any work done and felt exhausted anyway. Walked to the park at the top of the hill after dinner; saw two men with a parachute of some kind. One of them harnessed up, ran a little ways down the hill, and then leaped, flying, a couple feet above the ground for a couple of seconds. His feet moved like he was running. Thought about how it would feel to only touch air, even at no distance at all from the earth. Watched a little girl hug a series of trees while her father followed her wearily. Eavesdropped on teenagers on a date. Tried to determine why a yellow wisp of cloud floating in front of a blue sky looked pink. Walked past the parachute guys; thought about complimenting their parachute; didn’t. Saw the water tower for the first time in a while. Oddly medieval. Gray stone with decorative arrowslits. Weather: sixty degrees, chilly. Unlike either summer or fall. Plucked flowers from the cracks in the sidewalk on the way home. To press, later, in an art history textbook. Memorabilia. Looked down and saw a green tomato, two holes bored in it by some unknown animal, looking almost like a skull. Made myself a drink when I got home and a fly drowned in it almost immediately. Fished it out and fed it to the cat. Sat out with the porch light on. Said I looked like a Hopper painting. Tried to imagine myself from the outside. Tried to write. Tried to remember.
P.S. I haven’t been around here much because I’ve been busy with my internship. You can read some things I’ve written here. It’s been great but kind of exhausting, and I miss writing things that don’t have a straightforward thesis. Or any discernible structure, theme, relevance, or point, obviously.
P.P.S. My boss told me to start gathering material because people will want books about 2020 some day. I guess this is me taking that advice.
P.P.S. I need a job.