Lawrence Bridges 🔈​​​

We were about to leave when the fog appeared, first in a thin layer, then through thick oak branches. Again, the misgivings are greater than the certainty. Depleted souls wait along the road needing gas. Would they jump from windows, if they knew what they’ll become? A skater in a spotlight turns slowly. A finger moves through water in a pond against the shallows refusing to part. How do you rate your success in the maze?

The way in which an individual crosses town expresses that individual's taste and intelligence, which holds added meaning other than its value to real estate. Work is here and the money comes from over there, family here, friends there, restaurants and such, all over. At night, walking is easy along the edges of this monster circuit which appropriately reveals its abstract outline in points of light, a living fabric of promising routes stretching to the harbor. It is only then that the vocation one seeks is at one's feet, a way one never left roaring through the mock thicket. A fool wouldn't go inside until he knew he wouldn't be slain while going out again. Great prestige goes to the busiest: those who seek their vocation plowing through this maze. Reporters write of these events, avoided by all but the fit.