pinball wizard

Once in a while something extraordinary happens. OK, what a great opening line. I’m trying to get into my off the cuff ad-lib writing mode and it’s hard to with stiff people sitting next to you on the train. If only they knew what I wrote about them. But then, they go their way and I feel bad for what I wrote…

Something extraordinary. Something like the fulfillment of more than you dreamt for. Almost like a little bit of heaven right here on earth. This sounds so cliché; but my theory about clichés is that they become clichés because they’re usually true. And being so true and universally appealing, they get worn out, and become clichés.

So anyway. One of these things happened to me and, where else, but on the train. *Whoa, what a beautiful morning overlooking whatever body of water that is in this port-town-that-shall-remain-unnamed.*OK, about this extraordinary thing…the picture that comes to mind is a pinball game, and my soul is the little silver ball. Whoosh—it gets launched out of its little comfort zone into this bazaar of energy and electricity and flashing lights and ringing bells and bouncing bumpers and flipping flippers.

Oops. My laptop is hibernating. I'll have to continue this from, not the train, but the plane.