greetings from lost wages

greetings from lost wages

i sit in a room full of people dressed in navy shirts and fancy ‘speaker’ badge necklaces, and pause for a moment to contemplate my own navy shirt and fancy ‘speaker’ badge in a momentary crisis of commonality. during conferences like this, one so rarely goes outside into the air in general; now compound that with the twenty-four-hour gambling interior that is los vegas, and begin to feel the blood molecules as they implode and merge at the same time into all that surrounds, into one common mass.

so it can really be a treat to actually be outside.

i just wandered into another five-minute sojourn in the ‘real outside’, or at least as real as las vegas gets outside, and the air felt like full-bodied wine. the sunlight poured like honey, my skin soaking the air like a sponge. it tempts me to look for an inside / outside metaphor somewhere in all of this, but far be it for me to search for metaphor where none exists — and alas — my identity feels too challenged at the moment to try. notice now i did just this anyway. and just what does a minor emphasis in spanish mean, anyway?

friday i go all the way back, curving the backward j around highway 15, up 5, and back to san francisco to try to find out again.

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