Bound: Anywhere

Temp Agencies can be the scariest places, but often you may find on a desk of that sterile, off-white place a drop of happy, pink, strawberry ice cream, having dripped to its current location from the jowls of the foreboding “The [sic.] Man.” I may have a new job coming my way, and I'm happy of that. They tell me that it'll be working in a factory building motorcycles. I don't mind. Work me to death, I need it.

Today was rainy, the wet still clings to the sky and promises to stay for the next week or so. Days like these are so unlike Spring. You bundle up under jackets and sweaters, and wonder when the leaves will start to change colors. When will the birds flee from this hemisphere? Weather like this makes me cuddly. I wonder what my sisters would do if I held them close and popped in one of my black and white films.

Went to the other diner by the trains. There is a certain mysticism to the screeching of iron on iron. From a distance the locomotives sound like those nights that I've spent with the best possible people, just talking, making false resolutions, nothing mattering more than the early hours themselves, which wrap you in their dark comforter. Sit close on the back steps, pass a fag between the two of you. I don't smoke, but every now and then you feel the rattling intake of breath, only instead of nicotine, the night fills your lungs, courses through your veins, fills you full to a soft, quiet bursting, and then you do.

That is what the breaks and whistles and chugging sounded like, that hiss of releasing hydraulics. At night, you hear your own midnight revelations echoed in train song. If I could understand their language I wouldn't listen, because those conversations mean something more. They are sacred. As it stands, I was glad of the far off din while I waited with a friend to be remembered.

There is enough will to change in me now. I feel it growing every day. Before I explode with it and give everyone something to remember, the hope is to let it begin to trickle out, storing enough to keep the pressure up, but doing enough to be proud of. I'm going to start submitting my work to periodicals. My children don't have it in them to make it, but a simple no is the best motivator. I send out my hope in exchange for a respectable dashing.

Regards,

Caleb

P.S. tipple - To drink intoxicating liquor, esp. habitually or to some excess.