I needed to eat breakfast, and I needed to get home—except I can't actually go home anymore. It's all been carried away, and the voice of mind trembles upon recital of this certitude.
And so I find myself itinerant and uncertain; a foreign body. An Idiot, combing a new coast for shards of that old one that may have washed ashore, no matter how woolly salt and separation have left them
But back in the city, accounts of the hour jitter and diverge: Big Jim bellows, signaling St. John's to toll, and when a plastic wristwatch chimes, it occurs to me, and only then, that this new dialect—does actually have a familiar cadence.
Art and Sound by Josh Mason