The Director

There you are, sitting on the curb infront of a strip mall nail salon eating aWawa sandwich. Exhaust fumes fromthe road twist and marble theconcrete-colored light in the shot.Where are you anyway? Outside ofPhilly perhaps? Maybe Atlanta. Couldbe anywhere in America - but it issomewhere you don’t belong.The director wants you to get thefeeling that life will be nothing butinterstate billboards for injuryattorneys and choices about hell andadult bookstores and that home is veryfar from here.And the camera zooms out with anamateur focus pull and begins tofollow a woman in heels and a summerdress with yellow daisies on it walkingout of the salon and away from all ofthis because she is much morecinematic. And you move on with yourlife outside of the frame.I shout at the screen as you slip awaythat you’re loved, that you’re doingyour best, and to hold on a little longer.And the memory fades and I wonderwill my future self be so kind,replaying the scene I’m in now,writing this?