Travel Notes, beginning

There were choices she made to avoid choice. A flight to the convenient, the easy, the pretty face. Longing for something untouchable, she reached wide and far touching it all.

He opened the door, laid the cash on the table, and she stepped into velvet. Swings hung with ivy rope taunted her from the rooftop, but she took the window before he came down.

She burned on an island watching communists send smoke signals with cigars. Then beneath the splintered oak and with a bottle of rum, she crawled into her destiny.

One day she walked in the footsteps of a dock and a crown, and by night she took cheap wine wrapped in flyers to the depths of her darkness. She lost count of the faceless but would someday write about it.

There were choices she made to avoid choice. And in those moments of rapture and escape, she saw the reflection of a stranger wearing her shoes.