Bird on a Wire

Reading an article from the New York Times book blog (“Paper Cuts”, naturally, eye-rollingly). A brief piece, highlighting an author‘s new book, new website, whatever. And it’s 1:06 AM on a Sunday, for crying out loud. I should be asleep, readying myself for a day of investigating tomorrow. So this article is about Jennifer Egan’s website, newly redesigned to represent the concept of her new novel, space and time, blah blah. Interesting, I’m sure, but the rum and coke(s) working through my system throw me into skimming mode. Anyways, one sentence in a pull quote stopped me. It was about how she came to New York in 1987 at the age of 24. One little fact of biography. So I’m one of many. Lying here in my bed, up too late, a few drinks too many deep, at least for a Sunday. Many before, many after. Whatever I’m feeling has been felt before, many times over. So I’m anonymous. Old news. A wrinkle in an endless bolt. I wish the summer would end already, if only to feel like something can change.