I tried to follow her.
Well, no, I tried to catch up to her.
I first saw her in a downtown bar, but she wasn’t typical.
I was sitting in a corner…trying harder to look like a struggling writer in a bar than actually trying to write. I looked up to survey if anyone had noticed me, and instead I noticed her.
She had cold air hooked into her like a fog machine, and she ordered two shots of tequila, an american beer, and downed all three as if she was on stage at a talent show.
She paid in crumpled cash and rattled change, twisting and stomping out of the place like a bass note.
As soon as she left, I felt her absence choking me. I pushed my papers together, fumbled with my worn leather wallet, threw way more than enough money down and blundered after her…elephants chasing moths.
She was a mote in the distance, the tracks framing her perfectly in my memory.
I tried to catch up, but I knew there was no catching her.
You either ran on her time or not at all.
I wonder if she lives on those tracks….or if they’re only a way home.