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The Beginning

November 19, 2011

I’m sitting on the Q train, deli coffee balanced between knapsack straps on the blue, plastic bench. Coney Island bound on this cold, clear Saturday. The past three days spinning somewhere inside my head like soggy cereal in a cracked bowl. Sleep slipped through priorities; conversations and glasses of wine and tears and anger or maybe pain or uncertainty overcoming basic needs.

A day that we build up, idealize, cross our fingers for, those of us with screen dreams. Silly life, isn’t it? What does it all mean to want something so badly. Each step just another rung of a growing, rusting ladder. Not taking it for granted, just wanting more always. One day is just 24 hours if you have no one to share moments with. No one can share your moments.

What if this is the beginning? What if it’s the end? I never could find my footing in a story. If we are at the beginning maybe we can begin to establish who our heroine really is. The first scene is so crucial. A knapsack and a lukewarm cup of coffee, alt-country and Coney Island bound seems like an okay start

If this is the end…well it seems to end on a hopeful note. It must be the beginning. Beginnings are always confusing.




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