The future and me

Age 66. Forgotten by the world. Ignored and rightly so.

But, you know, some days I can believe I’ll figure in the future, beyond myself and my circumscribed world. Today I finished a chapter after savagely tough days (at least that’s how they felt). And sitting here, a balmy Melbourne evening, red wine in hand (no, it’s not the wine talking), I can believe or imagine or pretend that I’ll be a superstar of the printed word, with a legacy that blitzes the obituary.

Me. The future. Me.


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