Why Argue with the Fog?

A Tragedy Called Life

     Life is a tragic play. The players all play their parts. Only some play it well. Many get burnt out by their roles and demand another. At the gentle end of a whip they are convinced. There are no happy endings in this play, only an endless array of cause and effect. We are born, and get hit, so we cry. We live, grow old, and as a result die. This is the format of this play without an end or a beginning. This is the way it is and always will be.

     I once saw a man who played his role so well that he caused people to laugh instead of cry, made them hope instead of giving into their troubles. One day he to passed on and left a terrible gap in talent. Over the progression of time people have tried time and time again to find another with a similar talent. Despite their efforts that talent seems to have been granted to only one, and after that if was refused to everyone else.

     We all have our roles. Many of us play several. Some play mother and sister. Some play brother and son. Some play the villain. Some play the hero. Most play the background characters whose influence over the path of the plot is menial at best. Even with all our time and all our efforts, sometimes we get stagefright and cease to perform. The only real thing that we all share in common is the way we react to that spotlight. Give us that spotlight, and we show the world who we are.

     And so it goes, since the beginning of time itself. Never does it end, and never does it begin.

Rainfall

Just thinking.

     Tea is different from coffee or hot chocolate. When you drink coffee when it is hot it

tends to be painful going down like it is searing the insides of your throat. When you drink

tea in runs like fire and erupts like a volcano in your chest leaving a lingering warmth

breast. Tea tastes better then coffee to me anyway.

The Pizza Parlor.

I sit down at a booth.
Soon a waitress comes up to me.

She says her name is Mary.

I tell Mary to get me a coke please (product plug).

She goes to retrieve my motor oil.

Oil does not make the car go but it helps it run more smoothly.

She returns and sets the clear cup down in front of me.

I slowly take a sip as she stands there looking at me.

I look back up at her and order a pizza.

She eyes me suspiciously then goes to complete her end of the transaction.

It takes about 45 minutes.

By the time it had arrived, I have all but convinced myself that I have been forgotten.

I look up at the waitress and smile as I take my first piece and place it on the small plate in front of me.

She holds out her hand.

I give her ten dollars.

A look of disgust crosses her face.

She sneers at me then walks away.

I stare at the glass intently.

The condensation on the side of the glass reminds me of tears, then sweat.

I imagine some fat woman on a treadmill or exercise bike trying in vain to get rid of the fat that remains firmly attached to her ass.

I take another sip of my drink.

I smile as I relish its bitter taste.

I start on my pizza.

The next time I look up the pizza is gone and the place is closing.

I put on my hat and coat.

I leave a twenty on the table, and begin my walk home alone.