Disclaimer

I never could finish the MRL story. I didn't want to write about The Man from Senegal. I did want to write that he goes home to have dinner and chokes on a chicken bone. A bone that had been attached to a thigh that was seasoned just right with white pepper and lemon grass. I wanted to write about the directions that his legs jerked in and how that long tall body careened as he lurched out the doorway of his house. I so desired to find the correct words to describe the blue of suffocation that would bloom under his dark skin. I wanted to write about the people who pass him by, as he plucks with such long fingers at the the bone caught in his throat. How they are my own personal heros, looking away to check the time or what it was lodged under their fingernails, as he tumbled to the ground. I wanted to write about the dust that clings to the front and backside of that beautiful shirt of his, as he turns over in the street.

In the end I was not that person and that was not how the story ended.

Next
Next