I’ve lost my island to greed and corruption. To inhospitable ruthless bitches. To whores who don’t even like the sand. I pray for hurricanes.
If you grew up in Jacksonville, you probably know these people. Or knew them. Or worked for them. Or they slept with your wife. Or they are your father and you don’t know it. That’s always a doozy. Or there might have been altercations. Stories old and cold. Love is all there is.
Ruth’s Chris, My Family and the St. Johns River
That may save you or kill you. It’s a matter of perspective.
I sat and stared at the river. The eight foot span of glass window framed the movement of the dark water. White painted lines highlighted the altering circles. it was oddly the polar opposite of a
Max Peter’s painting. The black water provided the forefront and middle of the vista. A drab grey ship provided part of the back drop on North Bank.
A 390′ Navy Battle Ship was blending into the concrete facade of the Hyatt Regency. The sun shone down blanketing the vessel. Just ugly and there. But the city has plans and it will be a museum. A place where people make up stories of the past. Where one questions and doesn’t believe. Where one will believe anything they’re told.
“Do you mean to tell me a 390′ ship was framed in by an eight foot sheet of glass?”
The skeptic just had to have a voice. No matter how obnoxious.
“Yes, And you would drown trying to cross that river with those criss crossing currents. It’s impossible from this point. You would be sucked into the abyss.”
The one we’re all going to swim in one day.
Please Allow Me To Sting Myself
I do and I have. One should never put their writing out there until it’s ready.