3.23.02
After grad school, I
want to get up every morning and write for two or three hours. What
will I write about? I wonder if I will run out of things to write
about. I could go out, in search of things to write about. What
would I find?
Maybe I could get the
newspaper in the early morning hours, and go visit the site of something
mentioned in the story. A burned-down house, a nightclub for teens,
a deserted road where a drunk driver killed a dog, and herself.
What if I visited these
places and never told Joel about it? I could write about them, but
he would never know until he read it, and even then he would wonder
if I had made it up.
I see myself getting
up super early and taking off in my dinky Tercel to see where the
break-in happened, see the newly opened Wal-Mart in the pre-dawn
light, drive slowly past the house of the farmer whose daughter
won a scholarship.
I would want to see all
of these things just before the sun comes up, when the world is
self-absorbed, resolutely ignoring the signs that day is coming.
That is when I want to see them.
The Wal-Mart parking
lot is empty. A plastic grocery bag blusters across its fresh blacktop.
The unilluminated letters
of its name look depressed as the lights of the parking lot flicker
yellow, then turn out.
The scrawny young trees,
unaccustomed to their new environment, hang their dry leaves dejectedly.
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