You sip your coffee. You take a bite of the sausage gravy, thick and salty.
The music playing in the diner is strange. If music could be danish modern, this would be it, streamlines and bleached, oddly pure, in a language you cannot understand and yet somehow, do.
In a flash you are young and old, moments of the journey like a roller coaster, a madmanβs collage with tunes.
And the words. Like a bad flashback scene, they come, a B movie, or worse, lurid and darkly humorous, other peopleβs words, each one a memory and a trigger, leading to another and yet another.
Were I not so vibrant, it would be an end of life montage, and you sit sipping, taking it all in, aware that no matter what happens from here on out, you have survived the wreckages, landing like a cat thrown out the window so often you almost laugh when you fly, knowing somehow, your feet are awaiting you below.