froward
“Men like women who write, even though they don’t say so. A writer is a foreign country.”
Have you heard of Jean? Jean Frances Soros. The Writer. Jean Frances Soros, the Writer, was twenty-three when they discovered the impermanence of wisdom and the range of such rubbish when it comes up from a stationary place. The causality was that Jean always had to be moving while writing. It began with a notebook and pen, and Jean walked the red track up the street. A forest of tulips and rhododendrons cocooned the arena. It worked until running season started, and then Jean had to move. The next place was at the beach on the outskirts of town; poor Jean suffered the drive until realizing the bus was a better idea and took to sitting in the back- when it was empty- and would write furiously for the two hours until the final stop at English Bay. Jean enjoyed a walk into the dunes as the sun waned and splashed pink popsicles against the water. The bus ride back was just as fortuitous. Finally, at thirty-four, with a bit more expenditure, Jean discovered the potential of writing from an airplane. Aloft in the waves of cloudy consciousness, Jean was able to craft narratives that dug themselves a tidy hole in the people's unconscious hearts. At fifty-three, Jean writes from a private jet about the things people dream about only when they are up the high in the sky. The air thins, oxygen decreases, and the heart has to work harder to be heard.
Photo source.
