The walk through the neighborhood was rounded. That is to say, there were cul-de-sacs, yes, but there was, also, fire light. Amber glow. It was October, or might have been. Or April, amidst the rains, even, but it was, definitely, the northeast. Bidenomics ruled the day. Or would. Always would. Always had. Amtrak Joe. And that was enough. During his presidency, he’d build bridges. Repair the infrastructure. And he was a good one. A good one. It was what we wanted so we got it. I didn’t deserve it, but I got it. And that was enough.
In Arden, where the world is the stage, there was play-acting, but very little of it. Some would answer the doors, but others not. Most not. The good ones, anyway. Boundaries build bridges. But not here. Or maybe they do, and that was the point. Bridges have tolls, or, at least, someone’s paying for it. “No soliciting.” Sure, why not. I caught on pretty quick, but I never stopped trying.
I couldn’t.
It was my job.
* From “Institutional Eyes” (unpublished)
Observations from the Brink 