For Richard
It was 1984 and we were pretending to be spies.
It was one of those "adult" games that twists your arm to mingle. Our host, David, greeted us at the door with a card that had ou
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The American dream. The human dream. Like a phoenix rising from a 9 to 5 to become a name even your parents recognize. Night shifts are swapped for night clubs and auto payments for autographs. We obsess over those who reach this goal and paint them the perfect life. It's not long before the emptiness- the same one that plagues the poor and mundane- leaks through the cracks of their perfect life for the world to view like a film. For some reason, our goal doesn't change. We still reach for a broken dream.