Saturday, September 25, 2010
I simplified my life. Henry David Thoreau suggested it over coffee at Starbucks. He’d gotten me to pay for his. Isn't that just the way. Still, he had a good idea. At home, I threw away my clothes. Put the furniture out to the curb. The television. All but one frying pan and a fork. I called friends to take things. Gave my phone away. I sold that big empty house. Left the money to charity. I parked my car with the keys and a note: Free or best offer. I kept a hat because my bald head burns. But life was still complicated. I lay down in the grass. Closed my eyes. Listened to my breathing. I stopped breathing and felt myself die. Someone buried me in a box. No light, no movement, no sound down here. Ah, the simple life. I imagined Thoreau back at Starbucks. Who's going to buy your coffee now, you cheap bastard?