Tattered But Not Torn By Life’s Riptide
I stand in water.
It sloshes ’round my scuffed black leather wingtips, laps up the ankles of my rumpled dress slacks, turns khaki to the color of murky brown. Onlookers furrow their brows, incredulous that I do not see I am in danger of drowning, that if I don’t make a move for it, the water will continue to rise until it covers my soon-to-be-bald head. What they do not realize is I have alrea...