I was heading into town on my way to the office, recently, on a sunny Saturday morning, when I noticed a hole in the road that seemed to be widening as I looked on. Some might call it a POT HOLE, but I felt that SINKHOLE did it more justice.
I locked my bike to the nearest condo balcony and inched my way to the edge of this definite traffic hazard. I was thinking of finding some of those orange cones and putting them on the OTHER side of the street, thus directing unsuspecting motorists into the deadly chasm. But I decided against it, thinking, why ruin a perfectly good miracle of nature with man-made garbage?
I was afraid if I left the spot I wouldn't be able to find it again, or might return to find emergency road crews tarring over the hole. There was nothing I could do, then, except make my way down into the pitch black cavern, and feel my way along an underground passageway with nothing to light my way. I had my backpack, but no lighter, no matches, no knife, no nail clippers, no toothpaste, no bottle of water, no deodorant. Why was I carrying my backpack anyway, if I couldn't take anything with me? I had some Altoids and my notebook, and more than one pen, of course.
Cell phones don't work down here, apparently, not that I have one. I've been walking for days, weeks, perhaps months. Without the sun's cycles to guide me, my sleep patterns have become erratic. Or perhaps very regular. I finally have come to a smooth slab of rock next to a small underground stream. There is light from some phosphorescent fungi, and free WIFI. So at least I'm getting this update in before continuing on.
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