Beautiful Monday

Chapter One

Smoking cigarettes is really bad in a good way… and drinking… but maybe there are benefits… I believe Florida is a good place to die.

October 20 1969

Jack, the old writer, can be seen clacking away on a worn out Underwood typewriter. In fact, he wrote his most popular novel on a long scroll of paper. The paper would wrythe about the room snakelike in slow motion as the narrative met its match with real events.

His room was the size of an old Amtrak lounge car. It was a dusty if not nostalgic place. No images. Just old wallpaper. Empty bottles here and there. An empty suitcase. Clothes scattered across the room as memories were scattered from coast to coast.

Images and random texts flank the old writer like animals that come and go on the savanna of an outcast dream. I imagine his poetry belonged to pencil and napkins. Yet the prose was unbridled wild horses… or a bridled tornado rode with ideas and friends.

He is writing a book. The content is pure and focused. What reaches the pages falls seven stories down. They float like butterfly wings. Minimal weight. Lost in flight on the winds that provide us with the past. Someday to resurrect or perhaps to disappear. Have you heard of the void of forgotten existence. Or perhaps the memory unto eternity.

In the background, a telephone. Jack either doesn’t hear it or has no conscious association with it. It ends. He comes out of his concentrated daze and sips his warm cheap vodka from a paper cup.

When they made love for the first time it was mainly her eyes but obviously her flesh that pulled Jack in. Her exquisite nearly bare mound, her pulsing from under her tight skirt and her lips touching his for the first time. Then, the signs from her body. They invited his touches in and around her. Their lives left the moment and became something else…

Later she would think, “He seemed different to me. I saw it in his eyes. He was honest. Not like all the other men I had known. He was here because he needed to meet me. I felt a deep connection with him. I wanted to love this man and I thought he could love me back. This was not desperation. I was as sure as ever that life could go on forever”.

Chapter Two