The Rites of Spring Swallowed by the AEther: 06 Distant Memories of the Penny Arcade
recorded Saturday, October 22, 2022, 2:45 PM
from a journal entry written Friday, April 6, 2018, 7:14 AM
Distant memories of the penny arcade, pin wheels lights spin out, flickering across dull dry skin. The strobing sun through tree trunk truths across the highway, not hot but bright, the type of intensity that can give you a headache. Lost in the going and nervous: Is this enough?
The old plank floor worn slick with age, ground black with dirt creeks under the weight of his impoverished boot heel. The seams desperately holding on, trying to keep the callused heel from the floor.
His worn places are see-through, and his sun seared hide looks more like leather then the scraps he calls boots.
The distance between his thoughts and words are palatable, the strain of the situation deafening. A horn blows outside and fades angrily as a confused dog darts into the cemetery, its dew wet paw prints evaporating on the blacktop behind it.
The weight of his eyebrows nearly beat his face to the ground?