portseye
The Race…
You ask yourself why. Day after day, week after week, month after unfeeling month…why? You look around and see all those slack faces in all those cars, and wonder. Are they asking themselves the same question? How can they not be asking it? What sort of bovine impassiveness would it take not to ask it?
The woman in the next car is talking to herself, or to the radio, but she’s attractive enough and in your mind you rescue her from a car-jacker…no, two car-jackers…and she’s grateful and you could leave your wife for her, but then she bites into some sort of fast-food breakfast sandwich and the fantasy is crushed as she chews open-mouthed, still talking to herself, or to the radio.
This is not the life you expected, not the life you had in mind. You were meant to create, meant to introduce startling moments of beauty into an indifferent world, meant to not worry about bills. You were meant to spend your summers in Spain with a dark-eyed beauty who doesn’t look anything like your wife, a beauty who brings you limes for your gin and tonic. You were meant to be a hero.
It never occurs to you that heroism is not rescuing women from car-jackers. Heroism is getting up and going to work every day, week after week, month after unfeeling month, because people expect it of you.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, greg fallis and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
