Jason finds wonderment, enlightenment, and Mayor Raul Mondesi at a showcase in the Dominican.
I’m up early, blurry eyes from the evening’s bottle, wearing thin the flooring as I pace in anticipation of my journey. I’m set to participate in a flight to Santo Domingo, where I will stand on a box to see over the giants of the international industry. I’ve been on my hands since the instructional league, watching baseball through the magic of memories, months of electronic paper pushing and phone dialing that have made my eyes sad and lonely from the disconnect. My baseball lover, I’ve forgotten your scent.
The music for the mood is a heavy-hearted and ethereal attempt at “The Killing Moon” performed by Nouvelle Vague. A cover song I use to cover me in this moment. I’m taken. “So cruelly you kissed me. Your lips a magic world.” My ears are content and I’m in an exit row window seat. The inevitable query arrives and I’m provocative about my ability to aid in the unlikely event of an emergency. As it turns out, nobody finds comfort in the assurance that I will provide hero hands if an unlikely event happens to demand a hero. The steward’s take on my services is spoken in the universal language of disdain. I return to my float.
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