Brown Book Prose #10

We made our way to a shabby, aged trailer

Deep in the wildernesses of Nowhere, Virginia

Speed limit 10 in Glens

20 on Main Roads

The waters were docile and the green from the trees above

Looked like algae on the water's surface

I couldn't seem to focus on anything but the gravel in my canvas shoes

And she told me there was no time like the present

Well how shall I know she's present?

And we made love so that everyone could see

I realize, now, that we were everyone

We were fighting for our lives because who knows how long we'll feel this young, right?

She scribbled something sloppily in Spanish she probably thought I'd neither see nor comprehend

I told her about my infatuation with this American wilderness

But she didn't believe me

And I sang her that Outfield cover

And she didn't believe that either

I can recall my voice

While checking the time like late December in Manhattan

What happens now?

What does that mean?

I think it means, er...

Is this en route to inevitable destruction?

God, you worry so much

We can always continue from this ellipsis

It has always been a habit of mine

To acknowledge every cloudings potential to metamorphose into a downpour

And I arose to a desolate space

Devoid of all affection

And I realized the seeds I had planted had taken root

Fair to say, packing my umbrella was a worthwhile decision