The sidewalk across the street waits for no man. And I wait for no crosswalk. The cars stream by steadily. I know, can feel their energy. I do not know where they are headed, but know that I must carve through them. It is not a choice. It is not a challenge. It is an invitation. If done correctly, jay-walking is more of an art than a crime. The renowned jay-walkers of the world weave lines in and around vehicles like a black widow, easily sliding between spaces causing nary a squeak from a single car brake, leaving behind only the most fragile of invisible threads. The true jay-walker's tapestry is one of almost complete ambiguity. The goal: to make it across the street without disturbing a single atom in motion. Let even the tiniest of specs come to complete stops on their own. It is the ultimate symbiotic marriage. And if one should happen to catch the veteran jay-walker in motion, working their magic to perfection, it is not unheard of to feel the wet of a tear weaving it's way down your face. It is for this that the jay-walker continues, constantly sliding between the unassuming bumpers of Hondas and Chryslers.
A collection of essays, blurbs and tidbits that I've written and taken a liking to.