On the road, I hitch-hiked up a mountain, only to spill my chili at a local tavern.
Across the Great Plains, I wandered and I wondered, where are the buffaloes?
On my desk, with a sweaty hand, I gripped a charcoal pencil. Never had I stooped so low.
On top of an iceberg, I drifted for many miles, laughing at the prospect of having a spaghetti dinner that night.
Is there a function waiting for me at the conjunction of two taxis and one ice cream cone dripping all over my shirt?
Clinging to my last ounce of dignity, I slowed down when the traffic light turned yellow.
Across the table from me, Madonna spoke in Japanese. Do you like sushi? I asked. She shook her head. So, why not? Too much sodium, she said. I wasn’t sure how accurate that was, so I just nodded and moved on.
Stumbling along the sidewalk 