What to Do

Looking for the Jackalope • Laika

Ashes to Ashes • Happy Rhodes

Wrong number: outgoing message was the dog barking.

The sun went down at 7pm here two days before the equinox. What you do at sunset is often telling.

The sun slips behind the horizon like tongue over a jagged tooth. Inexorable, with no discernible effect.

But once you decide to leave, the landmarks appear on that same horizon, play hard to get to, appear suddenly outside the open window, and stumble through your mirrors into memory.

A cafe in Portland plays the same songs you heard in Brooklyn. Even the bartender looks familiar. Coincidence is a distraction.

No one will ever feel the same. Revel.

High Places • When It Comes

Magnetic Fields • Tiny Flying Player Pianos

Spring Is Here, Chet Baker

Hamlet, V, ii, 175

I want the whole of Creation to get there first. I don’t mind helping; in fact I want to be the last porter they see, the one who hands them down out of the Pullman and stays behind to sweep up the peanut shells while they get into carriages and drive off to the ball.

Until I don’t. Then the music swells and my broom straws become crinolines, needlessly, gorgeously sweeping the marble.

Margaret Atwood

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010/feb/20/ten-rules-for-writing-fiction-part-one