Whisper , Part 2, The Right Of Passes

Part2, The right of passes
It was 2004, and I lay in bed with my eyes closed, the day had been taxing. My spirit moved to a new adventure. I had many women friends, but they all seem to be waiting on me to commit to worshiping them. Now that was the power and weakness, I had come to know all too well. I was alone for first time in nine years, and the thoughts of the small town in North Carolina, was behind the time for a world traveler like myself. I grow up in the big city Winston-Salem was the home of my son. After graduating from high school, he was off to exploring the US, Air force. I like to think of myself hip, cool after all was what I was, called in my 20’s of the people I hung out with. I was not bored easy and when I was, it was time to kick in gear. My job had ended strangely. My coworker came on duty one night starting an argument about racism. A topic that was boiling in his blood, I did not need it or wanted any part of it as a way to express myself. I was considered to be tall dark and handsome. I had been a drill instructor and moon lighted as drivels advocate for human rights.
As I lay there in a semi sleep, suddenly I looked around the room, the wall seem to be breathing in and out, sucking up the oxygen like the beat of the heart. Sick I though”, what hell is this? I tried to move my lames, they seem weaken and err silence fill the room, am I dead, I though. I managed to beak it hold. Spring forward I sat up in bed, fear transformed into sweat-busted form my pores. Peering out the window, I could see day break into the shadows of the coming darn. As I wonder throw the day I knew that I had to live town. My investigations had revealed my tripe ahead to Venice Beach CA. was my next stop. The roads between the distension I would smooth out alone the way. I have always been keen at spotting changing patterns.
Three months later, I sat on the boardwalk at Venice Beach; I had made friends with the locals most thought that I was a very promising Artist and admired me for being myself. I gain there respect because of my discipline to detail. It all started one day I sat up my booth, I was sitting peacefully reading my new paper. “Every time a bell rings another angel gets its wings” What was that I thought to myself looking around and then over the newspaper. “Every time a bell rings another angel gets its wings!” TO BE CONTINUING…
leumasb leumasb
51-55, M
Jun 17, 2012