When the world tilted upwards and away from Gerald, he kept on trudging. Diligently onwards and upwards. Gerald didn’t have horizons, he only had summits, he said, which was the sort of thing I suspected him of stealing from motivational posters. He made rather a virtue of his persistance and delighted in the Sisyphean.
I didn’t have horizons either, if only because my entire view seemed to be one long downward slope. If I looked forward to anything, it was kicking Gerald in the shins, right on the bone, the next time he opened his mouth and made one of his fatuous pronouncements.
Photo: MINE! (Taken at Seattle’s International Fountain.)