Rainbow Parcel

Marionette

2012-02-04T23:54:00.003-06:00

Winter came, and you fell asleep.

As the snow fell, you slept and were buried in the drifts. When the white sun glowed, the snow crawled into the ocean, and you lay there, frozen in the cold. At last, you crack open your eyes, fragmenting the ice over your lids. You stir. Your skin frozen, clear porcelain and smooth. You lay there for months, cracking your chest to breathe.

The air laces your lungs with frost. From where you lay, you can see thick grooves in the beach--there were boats here. While you were asleep.

Where are you?

You breathe. Your ball-jointed limbs jerk, unfamiliar with their stiff movements. The stem of your stump hardened, with dots of white bone where the buds used to be. You breathe, and slowly you rise.

Letters, memories of voices as you slept below the snow. Where are you? they asked. Voices lost in the rolling sea. For a moment you falter, sinking with your elbows in the sand, your china head heavy. It hurts, but you rise, and trembling under the weight of gravity you totter to your feet.

There. A boat on the horizon. So far away but clearly heading in your direction. Blinking, ice falls from your face and facets in the light.

Breathing Smoke

2011-10-16T01:00:00.001-05:00

There are boats in the distance. Small ones, barely visible in the starlight. They have no idea you're there.

Anew, Once More

2011-09-30T19:48:00.003-05:00

There was a flood. That, you remember. A flood that wiped everything away--you didn't realize how little was left until you had finally pulled yourself up to walk, to find something, somewhere. You remember the dull, aching pain of your stump dotting the trail you walked with red specks. That's how you knew there was nothing. Just a flat land, surrounded by the glassy field of water. An island you wore down with footsteps, walking around and around.

As the sun pulled itself out of the waves and filled the sky with white, things began making sense again. It was a long process but your stump was closing, germinating and sweetly growing into a soft stem. You think you can see it budding.

You dip your feet into the water, feeling the wind inflate your lungs to pink.

T E

2011-06-14T16:02:00.003-05:00

Spiderweb cracks run through the pane glass window. It's aching from the pressure of the rainwater that's crept nearly to the top of the window frame. It's waiting by the window, watching you as you study the cracks. Your heart is racing but you touch your finger against the glass.

It didn't even make a sound.

You're plunged into deafness as the rainwater pulls you under and everything is swirling around you. Glass, pieces of furniture, books--they all scrape your vision as you struggle to find something, anything to hold onto. You catch the sound of a heaving groan, like something being crushed.

The rainwater spits you out, and you crumble into a heap. A searing pain climbs up your arm but when you grope for it you realize it's no longer there. You sit, clutching the stump, waiting for your head to stop swimming. When you look, there's nothing. The underground is gone. It is gone. You can see nothing else.

Drift and Swell

2011-05-22T01:08:00.003-05:00

It's quiet. You lift the plastic blinds, squinting through the glass as you hear the rain fall. It starts and stops with the thunder that only sounds when you're asleep, dead to the world. The water rises slowly; you can see it crawling up the building, toward the window. You smile; it's waiting by the window and you know it would smile if it could. This is the closest you've ever stood near it.

Building, building, building. The end of the world, the crush of fated chaos. Sound and fury and then nothing. It's going to be so hard but you understand why; that's why you're going to go prepared. You lean your forehead against the window, feeling the coolness of the glass against your skin. Beautiful chaos, sucked into order.

The Hose

2011-03-20T00:43:00.002-05:00

Breathe into the hose, you'll feel better.

Things are changing but not in the way you expected--instead of changing in front of you they're changing under your skin and you can feel the little bits and pieces shifting. You need to pull some of it out into the open and you know it.

He's there but not always whenever you want him there. Just one hour ago you almost got what you wanted but it wasn't exactly. Someone tried to stick his hand in your brain and you smiled and pretended that he did. He got what he wanted and you're sucking on a hose, filling up with smoke.

It's sitting near the window, watching you as you breathe out static. You pretend it's not there; you're too ashamed.

Prognosis

2011-01-31T23:06:00.004-06:00

It's becoming clearer.

You can feel it speeding up, picking up under your feet as you walk, as you stumble to keep up. It's coming, it's coming, it's coming and it will be clear to you, you can feel it--the thought makes sparks go off in your stomach. Faster the messages are coming to you and with such direct clarity it surprises you.

Cut it off. Cut everything off, all of the excess. You're screaming to break out, you're so close. Cut everything off and split away until you're left with nothing but yourself. It's all getting in the way, you know it. It's going to happen soon. Pull the trigger, let it go. Calm, wholeness will follow when everything settles.

You can't let this pass you by.

A Connection

2011-01-12T23:44:00.003-06:00

You never invited it in--you never do--but here it is in the underground. It comes with the compulsions and sits near the window, waiting patiently like it's waiting for you to respond somehow. You can feel it there and you know it is expecting something from you but not necessarily any time soon. It knows you'll know when the time comes.

When you first saw it there in the corner it surprised you, and then when it kept coming back it began to scare you. Why is it there? What are you supposed to know? How are you supposed to learn? When will you understand? The more often it comes the more you know that you'll know sooner. Seeing it there has become comforting, expected. Much better than what was done.

Someday you'll know why. You don't now, but that's okay. It's there, and its patience is soothing.

Misfortune

2011-01-05T00:40:00.003-06:00

It wasn't supposed to be but it was. To you it wasn't supposed to be and shouldn't have been but when has reality ever listened to anyone? Turns out it was and it wasn't because of something you did but rather something you didn't do. There's a strange sort of irony to the fact that you had just recently heard about the virtues of doing by not doing and here was a perfect example of doing by not doing lead to something done that really shouldn't have. You do have to remind yourself that your not doing was not the cause of the doing but doing could have stopped the doing from being done. But then you remind yourself that your not doing wasn't really a conscious doing on your part in the first place. Now it's like someone took one of those single hole-punch things and punched some skin off of you--there's no way that will close up like nothing happened.

So now you have to live with this weird hole punched into you and go throughout your day in hopes that no one notices because if they did what the hell would you say? It's not like they'd believe the real story--the hole punch thing. The problem is even if no one knows it's there because you do such an amazing job of pretending it's not there you still know it's there and it's itchy. It's so itchy you have to scratch it but then it gets bigger and skin flakes are getting everywhere. For some reason you can't stop scratching it.

Four Minutes Nineteen Seconds

2010-11-17T23:20:00.003-06:00

Seven times per day

Like a deaf-mute learning to speak

Trying desperately to be understood

It's All About Technique

2010-09-25T19:37:00.002-05:00

Going in, the overly-sweet syrup sticks to your throat, clinging to every surface as it climbs down. Going out, static-textured smoke that smells like medicine seeps from your mouth and buzzes in your head. It blankets you, calms you down. Makes you think. Each breath like the beginning of some scripted meditation, some zen-like policy. Your brain settles but stays awake. You let the drawings of hands and eyes drift by, relieved that the messages are slow and creeping. Sound files clipping--they should be alarming but instead they feel natural. It all feels natural. You let yourself sink through the floor and into all the various stimuli, and you experience.

Siphonophorae

2010-08-28T02:05:00.004-05:00

The nerve fires and has been firing over and over again like someone pushing a button in the back of your head--it fires over and over and compulsions are flooding from everywhere and while it scares the hell out of you you also know it can only bring you closer to perfection. Isn't that what compulsions are for, anyway? To remind you to do things that make you feel more complete?

Is there a connection? A way to become more whole? Something like the phrase "being closer to God?" It would be nice if the firing nerves could speak but then maybe that would be too simple and perhaps more than a little strange. There are compulsions to do simple things that should be leading to more complex ideas and revelations but somehow there's still a disconnect and you can't for the hell of it figure out what. Someday the firing will become clearer and in the meantime you can continue listening to the simple compulsions until something more concrete comes out of it. Then you might be getting somewhere.

Junction

2010-05-23T01:25:00.003-05:00

Where is it all going?

It's silent in the underground, and yellow from the floor lamp with the bent neck--the one not quite broken enough to replace--and there should be noises outside but there aren't. It's black and gold outside from street lamps that could possibly be bent but-not-quite-broken-enough but you've never been close enough to one to really tell. They are very high up.

It's silent and there are so many words running across your eyes and you feel like there is something more. Whenever you feel compelled to let your fingers leak you know there is something more but never in your damn life have you known what it was. You wonder if you sit here in the yellow-and-black would the something more become something here. But then you think that would be an odd thing to see.

The purpley bugs that did such a good job of leaving you alone for months are back but shrunken, and they climb the walls tentatively, knowing you are now the one who was here first. It doesn't matter to you or them anyway. It isn't long until they're a tangled mess of legs between the whitewash and paper napkin.

Lines are being drawn and will be connected soon, you know. It's time to make a choice about when they connect even if it's far down the line. You sit and study the plastic slats of the blinds and hope that time comes soon.

Carousel Spinning

2010-03-22T18:14:00.002-05:00

The sky runs clear for the first time in months, though the haze didn't disappear; it sucked right into your head and now everything seems hazy, even gravity. You float while you're grounded and dream while you're awake and no matter how much sleep you sleep in the day and nights you spend staring at the ceiling you always find yourself in that haze. You wonder how big your pupils look.

It's tough to keep your balance when clouds are stuffing themselves into your head and the days are flying under your feet like winding film but somehow you seem to be making do. It's not like how you expected but it's working, and maybe sometime in the next few months you'll have a moment to look over your shoulder and make sure everything's accounted for. But for now there's too much haze to even try looking behind you because you know you'll just get dizzy and fall over and then what will get done? Nothing because you're too busy being worthless when you should have been looking forward. You don't know how long the haze is going to stay in your brain but you resign yourself to the fact that it's not leaving and things still need to get done. You just hope you don't miss something on the way there.

An Ode to Flesh

2010-02-03T19:48:00.003-06:00

He smiles with full lips and heavy-lid eyes, and the air crystallizes around you. It's cold and you both can feel it but it's not cutting, even as you walk against the wind and steel is groaning over your heads.

Unheed

2010-01-10T02:56:00.000-06:00

Your pupils are dilating, watching the paint drip. You expect the cold snaking through the windowpanes to freeze the drips, but they continue meandering down the wall in front of you. Wandering away from your time zone left you feeling disoriented but somehow it doesn't seem to matter anymore. Ochre is sliding down the walls, one arm at a time. Along with it crimson, prussian blue. You're not sure what you did with your limbs.

The paint crawls into your eyes.

Being Spoken For.

2009-12-19T00:46:00.000-06:00

The volume turns up, and you're a million miles away from home. You knew you were, and you've been so for a while, but you didn't realize how far away you were until this night when the blood was pumping in both sides of your neck and the wind is blowing loud and the volume just keeps turning up. The sound is in another language, but it's a familiar pattern, so you pretend not to pay attention because it's the polite thing to do, right? Even though you're being spoken for.

Somewhere a million miles away is the underground where you can just tell the void has started shrinking, even though you're not there. It's closing up and you imagine how much easier it will be to get to the bathroom. There's paste all over the ground there where there's oil here.

The volume keeps turning up, so you decide to lay back and listen to your own blood. It has a nicer rhythm, anyway.

Paper Cut

2009-11-22T00:29:00.001-06:00

Hahahaha

You can feel yourself shrinking

Your whole body

It's shrinking

It's getting smaller

And your bones feel like paper tubes

Tightly rolled up and stuck together with tack

And it's still getting pumped into your head for hours at a time as your body gets smaller and smaller. But you don't mind. The sparks are going off in your brain.

Void

2009-09-24T18:46:00.000-05:00

There you are, going about your business in the underground--not hurting anyone not even the purpley bugs that keep trying to remind you they were here first--a massive hole just opens up in the ground, right in your home! It opened up and now it's just there, hanging out, taking up most of the floor. Damn thing isn't very considerate.

So you try to do what you normally do on normal days but of course it's not normal anymore because there's a giant fucking hole in the middle of the floor so now all that you normally do on normal days involves a lot more edging and dancing around on your tiptoes. Try to get some food, gotta walk around the hole first. Need to meed your bathroom needs, make sure you're on the side of the room where the bathroom connects or else you won't make it there. And you don't even think about meeting your bathroom needs in the hole because that's just plain unsanitary.

You stare at it and it stares at you. Of course it wins every time because isn't a pupil a hole anyway? That makes your wonder if maybe all this edging and dancing around on your tiptoes that you've been doing has been on one huge iris around one huge pupil. In any case, it's hard to avoid the hole and you worry occasionally that you'll edge and dance right into the hole itself if you don't concentrate enough. Suddenly being holed up in the underground became significantly less relaxing. Too bad it's already nightfall outside and everyone knows that there are strange predatory things out there where it's more cold than hot and the closest train tracks are high above the ground and don't host crazy siamese boxcars. None that you've seen, anyway.

Next Time

2009-09-23T14:07:00.001-05:00

It stabs into your brain, and all you can see is sparks.

Over and over, like it's probing for something, like you could have hidden something in there one purpose just to spite it, but it's still poking around so you don't know what the fuck.

I mean, you broke your head open last night, and something fell out and splat on the ground, so wasn't that it? It keeps stabbing, trying to find whatever you might have hidden from it. Because apparently you're trying to hide something from an inanimate probe.

Before you know it, you're hundreds of miles away, and the train tracks and siamese boxcars and appendages are nowhere in sight. The heat of the ground long dissipated, though once you lived in the sky you now call underground your home. Too bad the bugs got there first because now they won't leave you alone, not even long enough to make a sandwich. You try to get rid of them but they leave a bright purple stain in the wall so you never forget that they were there first.

An avalanche could start at any moment because you won't bother to clear the rocks. You waited too long and now one has gone through your head. Guess how it found its way in?

All the while you emerge from underground occasionally but don't bother trying to fight its gravitational field. Too bad it will inevitably seal you in when the ground turns to ice and all you can see are tiny little points that stick together one on top of the other until all you can see are the insides of your own eyeballs. Try living with that.

And it continues to drill.

Melt

2009-03-06T17:19:00.000-06:00

It's done. The coal cars are gone. The siamese boxcar has moved on from your apartment complex, sloughing off the appendage and letting it rot into nothing before you knew it. It fluttered a little but left after a while. The coal cars haven't come back but now the wooden bridge that smells like tar groans from the weight of the siamese boxcar. But it just sits there like it has been, all through the heat and cold and rain and snow and heat. It just sits there and you keep walking like you do every day. All the while red clay mixes with brown grit and nothing's moving but things are changing. They are changing and you can feel it.

The sun will be gone by the time you pass the train tracks tonight. The coal cars are gone and the siamese boxcar is gone and the snow has long melted away but still waits to slip you up on the sidewalk if you're not careful--even if you are careful. You hear a train coming but never see it pass.

Scratches

2008-08-28T10:20:00.000-05:00

Oh for god's sake the coal cars are back.

No, nevermind.

Shit, there they are!

. . . well they were here yesterday . . .

You wonder if all this business with the boxcars and flatcars and coal cars is making you insane. The siamese boxcar sits like a bloated whale corpse on the tracks--is it dead? You can't tell. It hasn't moved in months but doesn't smell any different so there's no real way to tell. But with it just sitting there doing nothing other things have started doing something.

Like the damn coal cars. Everything started with the coal cars and then they vanished and now they're appearing and vanishing more rapidly like some distorted film strip. You noticed them for the first time as you made your way by the siamese boxcar and toward the efficient path through the wood--there, further down the tracks behind the siamese boxcar, just sitting there as if they'd been there the entire time. But they hadn't been there when you finally came up for air because even though you were focused so much on how damn hot it was you know you'd noticed if those coal cars were back. You notice them now and continue on your way through the wood but when you return you realize the coal cars aren't there anymore.

The train track behind the siamese boxcar is empty of anything but wood and steel and long wild plants and there are no coal cars to be seen. But then the next day they were there again, and they were still there when night fell, but then they left again the next day. This continued irregularly for days at time and you can never remember what days you saw the coal cars or what days you didn't but you know you saw them there regardless.

But they haven't appeared in some time and now you're not sure if they were ever there at all. You never actually approached the coal cars and how can someone be sure something is there without ever approaching it? You don't even know if there was coal inside. So you decide then that the next time the coal cars appear you will approach them and be sure that they are actually there.

Does the siamese boxcar know?

Coming Up for Air

2008-07-14T01:14:00.000-05:00

Coming up for air is hard to do when said air is so bloody hot.

You find it odd that that is the first thing you think of when you do finally succeed in coming up for air--the whole idea that coming up for air is hard to do etc. etc. hot. But you come up for air and breathe it in and wonder just what time it is to make the air so hot in the first place. You don't have time to wonder however because there are more important things to wonder about--such as the boxcar.

The boxcar had grown an appendage back when it was cold and rainy out and not so bloody hot. It had grown an appendage that stretched out toward your apartment complex and it grew and grew and grew until it stretched over a long portion of the tracks, trapping you inside your apartment complex. So what to do in such a situation where you are trapped inside your apartment complex? Well you buckle down and climb over the damn thing.

So you approach the boxcar and its massive appendage and sniff at it. You hoist yourself up onto the nearest flatcar and realize just how dirty it is and wonder where it might have come from. Only a moment later you tumble awkwardly over the other side, landing brilliantly on your knees and scrambling away before the boxcar and its massive appendage can react. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Only, the boxcar and its massive appendage isn't going anywhere. It sits with its enormous girth on the train tracks trapping you in your apartment complex before awkwardly tumbling over it for weeks and weeks--until it gets tired. And by getting tired it begins to change things.

The chain link fence allowing you to tumble awkwardly over to the other side of the boxcar and its massive appendage suddenly closes up like a holey wound. Instead of climbing over the train you decide to simply walk around it, following the train tracks until you find a bit of woods to travel through. And you do.

Until the boxcar and its massive appendage then sends the trees toppling over in the middle of the night blocking your route through the wood before you discover a more efficient path through the wood that doesn't involve vaulting over trees or tumbling awkwardly. Life goes on in such a manner until one day it doesn't.

It doesn't and you find yourself coming up for air that is so bloody hot. Crawling out of the dirt between the tracks of the railroad you realize in wonder that the boxcar has somehow sloughed off its massive appendage, leaving it a siamese boxcar instead. How curious. The fence is still closed up and the trees are still knocked over but at least you have that efficient path through the wood and no need for awkwardly tumbling or even touching the siamese boxcar anymore. Although you did notice as you stumbled wearily toward your apartment complex that there is a large white bag inside one of its two boxcars and it looks quite full.

But first, a good bath would be nice.

Appendage.

2008-02-22T15:15:00.000-06:00

It's still there--and it has friends.

Every day, back and forth, you see that boxcar. In fact, it's been there, unmoving, for nearly a (leap year) month now. Only thing is, as mentioned, it has friends. A few days after the boxcar mysteriously appeared, several flatcars appeared behind it--a whole army of them. If you can consider eight to be sufficient for an army.

Nevertheless, they're there and somehow someone managed to attach them to the back of the boxcar without having to move the boxcar itself, as if the transporter just sunk into the ground back to hell from which it came. Hellcars, perhaps? Yes, it would be a damn good theory if hell was an actual place but because it isn't it's not.

Every day, back and forth, you see that boxcar and its flatcars behind it, seemingly growing appendages to snake into your apartment complex, getting longer and longer the more time passes without its departure. Yes, you see it but does it see you?

It's been cold and raining these past two days so perhaps the boxcar is too busy being cold and rainy to worry about you now you know. You should be busy worrying about being cold and rainy as you pass the boxcar and its flatcar appendage just as the sun wanders down the horizon, unseen behind the grey ink all splattered and covering everything up and leaking onto the ground, making it cold and rainy.

Strange Company

2008-02-01T14:55:00.000-06:00

You saw it. Saw it with your own eyes, as opposed to someone else's, which would certainly be one hell of an anecdote to tell at parties, wouldn't it, but anyway you did--you saw it and it wasn't moving but it wasn't coal cars.

It was a boxcar, a single boxcar sitting on the train tracks in front of your apartment complex. Just sitting there as if it had been there the whole time, an unassuming lump of steel and god knows what else. Why? Who in all the drecks of this planet would just leave a boxcar sitting on the train tracks in front of your apartment complex just yards away from where those apparitious coal cars had once been? Where the hell is the train and how the hell is it going to get its boxcar? The mind boggles.

But then again it's also the same day that the sun was shining bright and it wasn't too cold out but there were still clouds the color of pitch lumbering through the sky so who has time to think of boxcars, really? It was going to rain at any moment and yet it's been hours since you were outside but it is plain to see that the sun is still shining just as carefree as it's been since nine a m that morn.

But damn, that boxcar.

Dog-Eared.

2008-01-20T01:15:00.000-06:00

Slipping through the cracks has never been a fun concept. Weeks and weeks disappear under a blur of hospital rooms, vomit and bad hair, and when you finally have a chance to look around a moment you have absolutely no fucking idea how you got there. Nothing else to do but pick up the slack and go with the flow, right? The problem is those stupid coal cars haven't come back and someone stole your last pack of cigarettes, which leaves you out shivering in the middle of the night with only a dream and a pocket full of, well, you'd like it to be sunshine but it turns out they were fresh out of that the last time you checked.

Which leaves you with the present day. It all looks nice and rosy but you're missing your buzz and it really bums you out. Nothing better to do than plug in until the weather finally decides to make up its damn mind and either make it snow or make it rain for more than an hour at a time goddammit.

Where the hell are those peppermint patties?

An Interesting Consideration

2007-11-09T00:11:00.000-06:00

After watching your cat throw himself repeatedly into the window without achieving what appears to be his desired result of going through it, you begin to consider the idea that he might be a little off.

In a similar situation, after throwing yourself repeatedly into your work without achieving what is your desired result of finishing it, you being to consider the idea that you might be a little off too.

Moral: You and your glass-happy cat are frighteningly similar.

People Watching, Episode One: The Laundry Conundrum

2007-11-07T14:06:00.000-06:00

You're outside your apartment having the usual afternoon smoke. You lean over the railing on the third floor to engage in a little not-creepy-you-swear people watching. There isn't much going on today, to your dismay, although the apartment complex isn't completely devoid of activity.

Some woman from the building next to you is lugging a full basket of laundry across the street. She's got a lot of laundry in that basket, and briefly you wonder what would happen if she dropped it. Assorted items of clothing would fly everywhere, right in the middle of the street. Anyone driving by would have to stop; after all, what kind of jerk would just drive over someone's clean laundry? They'd probably sit there until she'd gathered everything up, or if they're a jerk (but not as much of a jerk that would keep driving), they'd blast their horn a little too.

You wonder what you would do if such a scenario came true; would you run down to help her? You are on the third floor after all, and that's quite a bit of stairs to run down. She'd probably have gathered everything up by then. In that case, would it be better just to stay put? You imagine you'd feel like an ass, hanging over the railing and smoking a cigarette and just watching her predicament. You'd probably look like one as well--she would probably know you were up there. Maybe it would just be better to go back inside, although you still have most of the cigarette left. It's no fun to waste a cigarette, especially after all the tax you had to pay to buy them. What would Aristotle do in this situation, you wonder?

After wrestling over the conundrum for a while, you realize the woman has already disappeared back into her apartment. Relieved you don't have to make such a harrowing decision (at least for today), you finish off the cigarette and escape to warmer climates inside.

Moral: Carry your laundry in a bag. It makes things easier for everyone.

The Coal Cars

2007-11-06T16:42:00.000-06:00

As you're climbing that annoying hill in the parking lot of your apartment complex, you notice something unusual. Every day you take a shortcut over some train tracks to avoid a much larger and thus more annoying hill because, as we've learned, you are very out of shape. As you approach the train tracks, a massive object looms in your peripheral vision; looking up, you realize it's a train.

Well, not a whole train. It's actually four or five cars from a train--those black, boxlike cars you always see in Westerns that are full of coal. Upon further inspection, you realize that these cars are in fact full of coal as well. Your mind boggles; what are train cars full of coal doing on the train tracks? Where'd the rest of the train go? Who decided to just leave tons and tons of coal sitting in front of an apartment complex? Your mind continues to boggle until you realize the cars are blocking your short cut. Cursing the damn coal cars, you tromp back into the apartment complex and up the much larger and thus more annoying hill.

The next day, you're making you're way up toward the train track shortcut again because, well, you don't learn very well. Of course, this time you're a little more observant and notice the cars are not blocking your path. Points for being observant this time. As you trip over the tracks, you get the crazy urge to climb up that little ladder every coal car has up the side. You wonder what sitting in a huge pile of coal would feel like, especially in a coal car you see in Westerns. But of course you decide against it--you know as soon as you're scrambling up the ladder, someone's going to see you and call the police or something. There's really no way to explain how you were climbing up a coal car by accident. Maybe if your hat blew away in the wind and got caught up there, it would be enough to get you out of any trouble. You curse your current hatless state and move on.

On your way back, you can't help but notice the cars have moved. The same number of coal cars are there, but they shifted about fifty feet. You walk home wondering why someone would have done this.

The mystery of the coal cars entrances you until you discover their absence the next day. You look up and down the tracks; no sign of them anywhere. It makes you a little sad, but also confused.

Moral: Coal cars are really sneaky.

The Trouble with Bicycles

2007-11-05T15:50:00.000-06:00

You knew it was a bad idea. Your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way down the dirty steps of your apartment building was enough of a hint, but you ignored it this time. A little dusting off the seat, a quick turn of the key, and there you were, walking your brand-new bike that hadn't been touched in weeks into the street. Looking around for traffic, you awkwardly threw a leg over its shiny blue frame--and you were off.

At least, for a little bit. In no time at all your legs burned in protest of all this sudden exercise, and your lungs wheezed from their own work. You curse the cigarette you smoked before lunch; you hadn't realized how picking up that little habit again would affect you. You realize people are walking faster than you can ride.

After a few large buses make a big show of dodging around your sad attempt at cycling, you decide enough is enough. Pulling over onto the sidewalk, you pretend to check your tires for air, then secure the shiny blue bike to the closest chain you can find. You then being strolling down the street as if you'd never seen the lonely bicycle before while trying your best to catch your breath. It'll be there later when you walk home, although inside you sort of wish it'll be stolen. Then you'd have a real excuse not to use it.

Moral: The trouble with bicycles is that you already have to be in shape to ride them.