Here I sit, like an out of work steam shovel in a gritty gutter wondering how it could happen to me.

Like a hammer cocked to fire, but not willing to focus on a single target, I blink, inhale deeply and slowly and blink again. I have a dream. This is not a last will and testament but perhaps an annual autobiography without so many details. Only the important sounding stuff. The things that peers respect and lifeless windbags repeat as if they had no life of their own (!). A meaningless drivel of bullets in which one or two sentences could suffice. Boiled down accomplishments to fit the format for want of the theme or even a plot to show. Be it ever so humble,

"I did my best." was all that appeared.

-- Don Cohoon (1996)

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