CLICK HERE TO ORDER PRINT ISSUE #9, WHICH FEATURES THIS AND MANY MORE STORIES IN OUR PEN & THINK SECTION!

Halfway through a hand-rolled cigarette
I looked at my fingers
I saw the new creases the years had brought
But marveled at how they were
Still recognizable as my own
My sight then focused to the burning ember of tobacco
I watched my hand as it reached across the desk
Towards the glass of bourbon
I had the strange feeling that I did not know who I was
It occurred to me that despite all outward appearances
I was not, in fact, a 1940’s private investigator
For some reason I was startled by my behavior
And the romance I felt
But entranced by the beauty of the moment
There was no race to get married
Or write a book or buy a house
The lingering bills and chores
Had all taken a backseat to what would be
A very small fraction of my life
One tiny moment that had been in the works for years
Every heartbreak, every setback and loss
All the built up angst, depression, and disappointment
They had solidified into something tangible
But also fluid and valuable
In the midst of an uneventful winter’s night
I found myself staring into the eyes
Of none other than the phantasmal and ethereal beast itself
Calm

CLICK HERE TO ORDER PRINT ISSUE #9, WHICH FEATURES THIS STORY AND MANY MORE!