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.