With clothes on my back and a bag and guitar, I travelled one foot in front of another
Nothing more, comfortable with the feel of the clothes on my skin
Along an open road, cars passed, dust flew up in their wake, and a few particles arrested the progress of my eyes in their natural course.
I had left it all, given it all away, with little rhyme or reason
Just to feel this feeling for the first time in my life
To gather this illusion up and feel it in my palm
To feel how I used to feel as a young boy
I sat by the road, strummling my guitar, and made half-hearted attempts to hail passing traffic to take me wherever we were sent by fate
The notes produced by the guitar had their own resonance
I allowed them to sound how they would sound, how they wanted to dance together
Who was I but a vessel?
My hands were the mechanical devices to do the hard work while the music played out its natural inclination
As I carefully stood without ceasing the mechanical action, a vehicle approached, started to travel more rapidly
And as the last note rang out, the last note that this guitar would ever produce, the car suddenly veered off the road
It crashed into both me and my instrument, smashing both into many pieces and mashing my pretentious hand into a pretentious pulp
Thus endeth this most self-absorbed literary salvo….