Sunday, May 19, 2013
Image Junkyard #3 (Week Two)
From metro to hotel. Tunneled and a little less than new to our eyes, just adjusting to dark Italian hair. The sound a man's eyes make when he looks at me across the aisle. I want to tell him the way he smirks seems more like tragedy than anything. No romance or rendevous. Which Rome is not. Even the Trevi, with it's gods and deflated euros--both waiting for decent conversation. But the man won't understand, so I look into graffiti and wander about the names.
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I'd like to see you develop this one. Perhaps an easy way to keeping this draft alive is to reverse the pronouncement about the man near the end. Maybe he NEEDS to understand. But what is it he understands, exactly?
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