Taking It on the Lam by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

The Break

I suspect that if I live through it I’ll often think of that strange and dark night. No doubt each time the circumstances will change, just like the scientist’s banal present-day rendering of his current version of “scientific fact.” But, at the time, like a somnambulist from the pre-war days of Pabst’s German expressionism, I was unable to stop and think, though my thoughts were not needed. I knew what I had to do. I knew what was in it, not only for me, but for everyone else involved, and despite being behind the eight ball I just shrugged it off.

There was just the show, and in this show the four walls which surrounded me effectively played demons which my world was better off without. It was all manifested abstraction; a pushy, annoying abstraction that followed me everywhere I went. All I felt was the atmosphere pushing me out into the darkness. It was persistent and overwhelming, as if the fog had rolled in with the rain falling on me from an ominous and ghastly low sky when I thought that I could see a glimpse of a ship which was way out to sea on the river tide.

Taking It on the Lam