November 6, 2013
Well, here I am again. Me vs. the page. Me vs. the blank screen. Me vs. writer’s block. Have I wasted enough time? Yep, once again I need to turn to our nation’s colleges and universities (I must be desperate) and look to the list of bizarre college essays for inspiration.
I didn’t find any, but here we go: Please describe a daily routine or tradition of yours that may seem ordinary to others but holds special meaning for you. Why is this practice significant to you? (Barnard, 2009)
Well, I don’t; really like to talk about this, but I guess maybe it will help me to unburden myself. Maybe it will help me to sleep at night.
One night, years ago, when I was young, my family was leaving the movie theater, capping off a great evening in which we had dinner at a fancy restaurant and saw the opening night of the Mark of Zorro. The city wasn’t as crime ridden as it is now, but even then there were some places you avoided.
It wasn’t too late, the alley not too dark, and our car was parked just across the street. We were happy and probably not paying too much attention or maybe we would never have gone down that alley, seen that man.
He stopped us.
Had a gun.
Demanded mom’s jewelry.
Dad took a step towards him.
The gun blazed.
Twice.
And I was an orphan.
I swore on their graves that their deaths would not go unavenged. And every day I pass that alley and leave flowers amongst the cans of garbage and broken bottles and detritus of urban life.
What? Shit, sorry, that’s Batman’s story. I thought it sounded familiar. But seriously, that is a much better story than mine. You don’t want to hear it, it wouldn’t interest you.
What? Really, you do? It probably isn’t half as interesting as you think.
Ok, you asked for it. My special routine?
Every morning I get up early and read a book on the can. That’s it. It’s quiet and no one bothers me.
Hey, I’m no Batman.
Mr. Blog's Tepid Ride 
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