This is where I am standing in the kitchen and the loneliness echoes against the silence. I am standing at the stove, eating leftovers from a frying pan.
Cut. I’m at the sink and I’m rinsing the mug and setting it aside for my next cup of coffee.
I go with a beer instead.
About here you start to sense that this a montage. You should read it in slow motion.
This is where I’m standing in the street, about an hour before the sun started to set and the rain was but a drizzle. I’m playing with the order of things. See me hugging my children and putting them in a car that is driving away for what feels like forever. Pan out as the car fades along long and winding roads. I am the small movement in the bottom corner, walking away and looking like an ant from here. My back is heavy with memories. My fingers are running through my hair. The moment is fairly dramatic. There is talk of an Oscar.
Flip to the other side of the car left running and see a boy peeing into the street just moments before a long road trip without his father. This is put in to balance the previous scene. Even melancholy enjoys a good laugh.
See time pass. This is done mostly with lighting and shadows. Also, a clock with the hands moving quickly. There are long hours and little sleep and the chilling confines of unlimited possibility. The TV is on. It is off. The mug is full. It is empty. It is resting against the bottom of my lip and steam is rising from it.
The rain goes on and it comforts me. Maybe I spin in it with my head back, laughing madly and smiling skyward. Maybe I walk through it with a face unshaven and eyes heavy with whiskey. Maybe walk is a strong word.
The last scene is a bed covered in dogs and a man sleeping on the edge as is his custom. The ceiling fan is slowly turning. It is the dance of the wallflower, but it is a dance nonetheless.
This is where you jump out of your seat and try to beat the traffic.