She waits mostly for the right moment, her show to come on, or a moment better than this one all full of anticipation that’s got her all anxious and almost unable to breathe the air filling her lungs so fast she’s drowning; she is drowning and head bobbing on an exhausted promise that today will not last always anymore than trouble will eventually find its way to someone else or somewhere other than here tonight, today, tomorrow will be the same as yesterday which she convinced herself she’d forget only to discover memories never really let you do that; just reincarnate into new names, new places, and cars that smell like manufactured possibility: fresh vinyl and plastic.
darlene anita scott 