Tell me a story.
Okay. Northern California coastline. A cliff, about 200 yards above the shore. I am walking along the edge, and there is an outcropping, shaped in such a way that there appears to be a path cut into it. I cannot resist a path. So I walk it, to a section a little higher, like some random boulder just sitting up there. There is a gap, but I can reach across it. The boulder has worn away enough so that I can get a foothold, and I pull myself across the gap and on top of it.
I sit up there for a while, take a few pictures, have a smoke, and just look at the ocean. I wish there was someone there to share it with, but at the same time I am content.
After a while, I am ready to move along. I turn around and look at the path. It seems to have moved away. And now the gap I stepped over a short while ago looks like a chasm into which I am doomed to fall.
I think, maybe I can just jump it. But I worry I'll land wrong and slide off the path, down to the rocks below. I decide to ease myself down backwards and try to step back over. The camera is around my neck, sunglasses in my pocket. As I bend down, the sunglasses slip out, but I am still stretched over the boulder so they don't go far. I snatch them up and put them on; meanwhile, the camera dangles and scrapes against the rock.
I reach a foot out, looking for something solid, and as I am about to start panicking, I find the ground. I shift as much weight as possible to the landed leg and push myself back off of the boulder.
The path is gravelly, and I slip a little, but then regain my footing.
I stand there for a moment, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. Slowly, I walk back to the rented convertible, get in, and turn the key halfway. I dig through my CDs...put in Telepopmusik, start up the car, and I'm gone from that place.
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