Little Orange Tabby Cat

Little orange tabby cat. Sunday, May 29, 2016. Day before Memorial Day. Route 46 near the diner where they’re doing construction. Hit by a car. The shape a life takes. Don’t believe the television cop and detective shows featuring troubled geniuses and super-computers- there is no algorithm for violence and destruction. Oppressive thoughts in anticipation of the heat and the light and the people. Science and folklore. The flattened affect of a weary observer. By the end of this I’m confused and slow and lost. What if Nick had gotten shot, and Gatsby had lived on? Would that book ever have been written? Who would want to read it? Am I the Nick for all these little Gatsbys? How many books did Fitzgerald have in him? Sometimes when I’m doing these I feel like I’m waiting around keeping them company until the ambulance shows up. It never does, and, on a certain level, I’m the only one there all along. Imagine if you were a little tabby cat and could see yourself in a mirror- wouldn’t you love how beautiful you are? I feel like I let this cat down. I’ll try to do better next time.