I Speak to Fewer People

I have been in touch lately with my inner self, the fruit picker who lived all those years in a motel. I shaded my story so it proved everything I did was by intention. After each love affair, each participant received a little gift. I mean someone always said: You didn’t really love her. I speak to fewer people than ever. No matter what it looks like—I say this every chance I get—something divine is going on. And wonder: Is it? I’d like to lose a little weight. Just the same, the marriage had its good points. I still can’t tell you what I am known for. I’m easily shamed. On my walks I hope to meet someone interesting, someone I have been headed toward all my life, or simply someone without too much guile, a friendly person with a little intelligence. Maybe we will walk along together, talking about romance or trucks.

Charlie Smith
"Word Comix"