Life is a one-way journey

This isn’t a true story.

It happens somewhere dreamed about going or went to, existing now in memory.

Conjure any mixture of models you have or did have of the world.

Like brown paper maps and globes.

Blow them up massive and spread them around.

It’s immediate to fly and zoom over this smorgasbord. One just looks, and off they’re gone, covering impossible distances.

Geographical accuracy doesn’t matter.

We’re going somewhere there are mountains. You recognize them, recognition slows you down. Feelings weight you down until your feet touch the ground.

How strange.

You and an old friend are standing outside an antique store in a mountainside town. The town is near or in India somewhere. It’s near to the end the trip, and it’s almost time to go to the airport, board a plane and make the journey back to your home country in the state of Alabama in the good old US of A.

The mountains encircle the horizon. They could just as well be scrunched up paper, depth and texture being revealed by the falling of light out of the blue canopy.

You are both weary at this stage. Your friend has especially had enough. He’s ready to cross the road back to the hotel…