with a bum foot, whatcha bonna boo? (as Mom says)
one thing I wrote a long time ago reminded me of how we write across the globe.
I wrote inside it some more.
'okay, so why isnt Mr. Chen electable?' I whisper.
A monstrous mountain enters our view. Everyone's seats shake accordingly.
This IS a romantic picture, I think to myself.
A tiny figure scales the face of the rock, only feet from its summit.
An insect stings my right ankle.
Turning to you, I ask again, 'why?', rubbing the swelling itching.
Looking down from the summit now, I see the climber's face
strained with impending glory.
This must be the highest mountain in the world. The sun is just rising over
the Chrysler building in the distance.
I am sweating. "Just do it!" the climber's exhausted voice
penetrates the room. From my house here in Cincinnati, I can just see
the whole scenario.
From your house, in Taiwan, you must remember this.
In the distance, I can see the silhouette of Pilot mountain,
from my house in North Carolina.
A searchlight pierces the clouds surrounding its knobby peak.
You walk towards us, gesturing in the glare of headlights.
As your face fills my screen,
I freeze frame.
You're not going to cry over her any more, he says as
he motions to the peak.
I suppose I will have to search for any keyword that will bring back that story,
because I've forgotten the ending,
weber chen at visa.com.