I’m sure I’m not the first writer who’s done this sort of thing, but it sure feels like it…
It’s eight in the morning and I don’t even know where to get a cup of coffee in this town…it’s still too foreign …and I knew that I should have gotten a bit of sleep last night… but I didn’t… and as I watched the strange birds drink out of the pool…well that’s when I got on the first bus that was going downtown.
…and there’s no way I’m paying a dollar for a jug a water and so I keep walking down center street and then I pass by a newspaper stand and the headline reads:
“Earthquake in Haiti. Survivors screaming… “WE’RE ALL ALONE”.
“Damn” I said, “that’s not any good”…
…and then I remembered that the earthquake hit when I was at the bus terminal in Atlanta, and almost two days later I felt like I was one the survivors, and I say that because I was wandering around aimlessly without a plan like an idiot. But I was lucky though… and I shouldn’t have thought this but the headline felt as if it was telling me something…because truthfully… I was all alone, and that’s when I met Dez.
Adventures In American Writing 