this morning was hazy and had the pale softness of a crushed tapestry. in this hotel ballroom bereft of any character, my mind lumbered, way less earthbound than this zippy seminar speaker who kept on saying “these new federal regulations.” my flipboard pages brimmed with bad weather news and apocalyptic prognostications now that chris brown is still detained in flooded manila. i kept hearing the waiters in the other room fussing over the silver and glass.
at best, i’m a dabbler at life. i am that guy at the back of the great diego velasquez masterpiece, las meninas. i am him, that shadowy guy who just waffles between his urge to join the action in the middle of the lighted room or just bolt through this murky but tantalizing threshold to the other side.