...and as I watch myself approach a supermarket or a drug store through those all-glass doors I have all I can do to keep from turning and racing back to my bike and rocketing away for home; the truth hurts. Squat and fat it is. So be it...a pumpkin with legs.
The real me, which I once saw when I was non compos mentis, is more of a swashbuckler or a rough ridin', hard-livin', hell-bent-for-leather, tall, sinewy, rangy fellow, a bit of a rogue but with a big heart; I'm right out of Rafael Sabatini or Kenneth Roberts novels...
And I don't mince along like that wimp at Rite-Aid in the window either, o no, THIS rabble-in-arms, this good ole boy swaggers with an air of assured and supreme confidence, the guy in the window slogged along like he was on downs, listlessly pushing at the door, opening it like it weighed a hundred pounds. The real me coulda flung it open and shattered it against the wall.
The mirrors've got it all wrong, distorted; I'm not a sawed-off little pork pie at all! I'm a hero looking for someone to save which in turn will save me; I need to up my coin, increase my stock's worth, to do something way-heroic to atone for my multitude of lifelong nefarious deviations from acceptable behavior...
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1 comment:
KEEP THE NOTES COMING :)
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