Helplessness Blues

City sounds secede succumb to soft stroke strikes. Soon: silence.

An adjustment to the calm coupled with a realization of the chaos across the threshold, my friend's apartment, New York City.

Bamboo floors, feet sinking. Opposite my entrance a wall: a huge world map. Buildings rose outside of windows so big I couldn't get why they weren't on that wall.

Glances at emptyness of South America, expansive Russian fields, natural Europe. The middle of Africa.

I thought back to a yogurt place from my youth. Push pins shoved into effective cardboard. Mark where you're from, where you've been, as if the world was a checklist and communities could sent off reports. Hello, sir. And how vast are those horizons?

Shockingly small things were all I seemed to need. Beautiful girls. Guys that could make me laugh. Dark chocolate.

Looking at the map it felt wrong. I had to get over my tendency to choose the option in front of me. Fruitless fluctuation. What d'you want to hear, map?

My weakness, inbalance.