Willms-The Wrong Side of the Tracks

At the half-tender age of 25, I still spend my solo moments walking down railroad tracks and back alleys. As I pass the rusted bones of the honest-to-goodness blue collar dream, I feel as if I have departed from the fast pace and artificiality of the nine-to-five world. Often, there’s some kind of camera in my bag, a green tea in my hand and a bandana pulled up over my face to block the slap and sting of the frigid wind. The bandana soaks up the tears that stream down my face as I walk. Don’t worry, I’m not crying about injustice in the world, the death of truth or some other angst-ridden slogan. I just have overactive tear ducts. As soon as I get a cold wind in the face it’s Niagara Falls. Sometimes I tell people I’m sensitive. That’s true, but kind of a lie at the same time. Here’s to all those ghost walks that take you somewhere else, but never seem to lead anywhere.






Willms
  1. borealcollective posted this