like a fever dream, this franticness


hopping from stone to stone in an attempt to cross the river, or escape from my pursuer(s) with little perspective as to what lies across, at the other bank.
i am standing on a bridge, it is night time. cars, boats, bikes, pedestrians, they all pass me. i am temporarily mesmerized by the twilit city and the roaring wind.
in Portland there is a bridge across the Dalles that branches at its approximate midpoint, and if you take either way you will end up at very different parts of the city, either the North end or the Southeast quarter. the last time i was visiting i made a wrong turn and ended up far north of my target destination, in another part of the city entirely. it feels like that now. paths are branching out in front of me, and i need to figure out where it is i want to go, what route is best for getting there without too much sidetracking.
there are more than two options, of course. i could even keep hopping from stone to stone, but my feet are getting numb from the cold water and i will probably slip and fall and be washed away by the roaring flood soon if i don’t take the bridge. the bridge is not a high road, it is a compromise. it is the establishment, it is giving in for at least a little while, that tenuous dance. the bridge has holes, but there are tools here, and i want them.


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