Mike Fritcher CC
Everything before this year was a cold open.
I’m warming up to the idea of leaving again,
for a city where I am a stranger, complete.
I am dancing around questions; this is no time
for answers. I am sick somewhere,
to my stomach & friends. I am winding down.
Take this: rain, probably. Three different people
told me when my hat fell out of my bag three
separate times. The waitress telling me to be careful
out there, like she cared more about me than
my actual family. Once my phone malfunctioned,
& it kept ringing you & ringing you, & you weren’t answering,
so it looked like I was calling you over & over, like
I was manic, & you finally answered, & I tried to explain
what was happening. We had planned to possibly meet
after Lollapalooza one year, & I think The Killers
were onstage, & after you picked up, the phone
went back to calling you. I ripped the battery out.
But you could see me doing it for real, right?
& not just because I brought it up, right?
I need to get ahead of the story.
David Rawson is the author of A Jellyfish for Every Name & Proximity
Write something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview.