Words by Paul Alan Fahey
My condition started some time ago. It could have been weeks, months, or even years. I have no idea. At least, that’s what I think on a good day; I don’t have too many of those anymore. So I rely on the present, what I experience in the here and now, and do my best to live in the moment. Because once it’s gone, I forget.
I’m sitting now in the orchestra section of a theater, waiting for the overture to a huge critical and audience success—just read this in the program, so it’s still fresh in my mind. The handsome, elderly man sitting next to me must have arrived late; at least, I didn’t notice him when the usher led me to my seat. He took a while settling himself in, then started flipping through the Playbill.
We are so close. Our arms brush against each other.
