I read a book by Pat Pattison on Writing Good Lyrics.  One of the exercises is to free write with as much sensory detail as possible for 10 minutes and 10 minutes only... start from a randomly generated word and then write with absolutely no editing.  I am supposed to do these daily though I often neglect them.  This is one obvious manifestation of my lack of self-discipline.  There are plenty more.   Luckily today I did it!


The people.  That’s what separates any city from the next.  Well… The people AND the architecture I guess.  The former makes the real difference and the latter is just aesthetic: interesting for now but meaningless in the long-run.  Walking around these streets, cool crisp air bites my exposed neck with the playful seductive tease of a lover.  The threat of discomfort is not to be taken seriously but rather serves as a reminder of cold’s presence, preserving life from the sterilization of safety and reminding me of my lack of romantic companionship.

    A large shaggy-haired 20 year old passes me with his arm tightly around a blue eyed brunette. She throws her head back as she walks, cackling at what I cynically, jealously, desperately assume is a douchey joke.  Between the hair, the fact that we’re in Canada, and that this girl is untouchably sexy, I have to assume he’s a pro hockey player.  He carries that sense of over-blown confidence that one only gets when they are in peak physical condition or making millions. Baffoon's probably got both.

      Suddenly the rug is out from under me and I’m falling face forward.  I catch my feet before eating it but my maneuver wasn’t without a grunt worthy of birthing cattle.  I feel the blood flush my face afraid that the hot couple won’t be able to hide their laughter. When I reluctantly look up I find that they’re so absorbed in each other that they didn’t even notice. Now I feel my face flushing with anger.  These two perfect people are so happy they don't even have the time to make fun of me.  Ugh... just disgusts me.  

    Ah shit!  My brand new sneaks are ripped.  I look back and see that I caught the edge of an old decommissioned sign post.  The little chunk of my shoe is stuck in it with the Nike swoosh facing me, perfect mocking me to “Just do it.”  You know someone should really do something about that post…