Dancing Records, Wooden Spoons

I tend to forget that no matter where in the world a person is, the one thing that remains constant is the inconstancy of time. All over North America today there are people cursing their double beds, their dressers, and those cumbersome armoires, wishing they did not have to move from this apartment to the next. People frantically scrounge for first, last, or even just next month's rent. People forget and then recall again with a pang and a turn of the stomach that there are phone bills and mortgage installments to be made. And this activity continues in perpetuity, biweekly, and month after month, never changing, while nothing stays the same. Such is the nature of the capitalist maze, I suppose.

This post is dedicated to Alison and April, in hope that their transitions are without event, and to the 99, which will soon be no longer.