In the cross hairs of my sniper's scope, I was a marked man. Knowing my days were numbered I lumbered on.
Treating each day as it could be my last. I endured this pleasure for more than three weeks.
Spotter ready. Shooter ready ... two shots were fired. One of them hit me.
Many would see it as an assassination attempt. I find it rather liberating, no longer espoused to the regimented lifestyle, once again.
This had been my immediate life raft after being thrust from the sinking journalism industry the year prior.
This time, the weight on my shoulders lighter, but not without wounds. Paths abundant and murky. Outlook still cautiously optimistic. Opportunity floats about.
With this newly instilled freedom, I first broke north into the wilderness. Then southwest for a reunion across the desert.
Life is best when lived. Yet my soul remains insatiable.
These are the loose chronicles of an unemployed man.
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