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Sunday, February 8, 1998
08 Feb 98
By Paul Ford
As I'm writing these little blurbs, I'm listening to Elliott Smith, and he sings about the Ftrain. Good to see the kids rocking out. This is about work angst, of course.
In the elevator down with my boss, I said, "God, I'm swamped."
"There you go," he said. "And the more responsibility we give you, the more swamped you'll be." A little life lesson.
"Oh fuck!" I thought, "he's right! I'm only 23, and I'll be 30 in a couple of weekends, asleep atop a hollow mound of web sites."
I ran to the A train, and switched to another train at 34th St, this time Amtrak, and bought my ticket to Florida. I'm staying in a little hotel.
Still, they could reach me by phone. So how far is Cuba, really?
I made a raft from Pepsi bottles. I launch at dawn. Sharks and jellyfish can't compare to the fear that I might ransom of my time and soul in exchange for greater profits.
My transistor radio keeps me up to date. I report to you from an Internet Cafe in Miami. Comrade, count mine a narrow escape. Goodbye.
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