this morning #2100.

this morning, he kept stopping after every few steps that he took. not at all in a hurry. easily distracted by all sorts of external stimuli. a dog’s bark across the street. a possible rock in his shoe. the speakers of a passing car blasting a familiar old tune. all occasions to pause & catch up to the moment he was having. after the accident & the ensuing disability, he’d been forced to live his life slower anyhow. as a result, his days became a series of acute events. increased potential for profundity. he’d stop at a corner and instead of crossing the street, he’d stand there smiling. taking in the sights on all four sides. find himself admiring anew the brickwork of an apartment building that he’d probably passed by a thousand times.