Wishing Wishing Away

Some days going anywhere, being anywhere but there, wherever that may be, was a chore for the man in the hat. It might be simpler to be where one is, where one finds oneself, there, than wherever it is one thinks one should be, over there, for example, or way over there, there over there, away from here, this place here, the here and now and then. But then again being there or here, or here or there is a matter of conjecture, a matter of moving one foot in front of the other until you get wherever you’re going, over there or here, or somewhere other than the here and now and then. Wherever it was he found himself, there or here, here or there or way over there, there, the man in the hat always found himself wherever it was he was suppose to be, wherever he was going or had come and been, going and coming, being and becoming all being part of the getting there or here, here or there, away from here and there and wherever. He could imagine being there, there being Seocho Seoul-t'ukpyolsi, there, in that exact place, in the here and there, or he could imagine, conjure being over there, not Seocho Seoul-t'ukpyolsi but standing impatiently in line at the Bristol Myers Squibb Pharmaceutical Research Institute waiting for his pills, his tablets and tinctures, waiting in line impatiently waiting. No matter where he was, wherever where or there or here was, he always ended up where he was going, where he was suppose to be, there, over there, there.

A prattling of gray sky popped in and out from behind a clover of clouds. The man in the hat watched the sky popping and cutting in and out, thinking as he did that the sky was an idiot, a moron, an imbecile. Such thoughts he thought often, more often than not, thinking them, the thoughts, against his better judgment and mien.

The shamble leg man had a wish, he wished he owned a shanty shack, a roiling turbid ditch of roiling turbid water running crookedly under a broken bridge, a busted up dilapidated span, a span that spanned the roiling turbid water beneath the crookedly crooked broken bridge. He wished he didn’t wish such silly things but wished them just the same. He wished he could wish away wishing, wishing it far, far away, so far away that he would never have another wish, never. But as this was unlikely, wishing away wishing, he settled for wishing for wishes that were within his grasp to wish, simple uncomplicated wishes, small ordinary not out of the ordinary wishes, small things.