The same woman in her summer dress gets off the bus with her little girl near 24th Street and I drift into the urban myth of my two month waking. Streets and trains and the dream of plastic boots and leather gloves clinging to some west coast stove pipe couloir with my skis on my back.
The grip of reality squeezes my throat as I lift my boot with a prayer and the faith my hand will hold my weight. The inevitable escape is there in the heartbeat looking down between my legs in a stolen moment. Snow, rock, sky…laugh, nervous, breathe.
Awake…iron shirts and tie ties, suits and labels and people in trains and towers who have no idea where I am right now.