I skipped work today. Took a ferry to Nantucket. I don’t know why, I’m usually not an impulsive person. I was eating lunch at the Demitri’s Cafe, the place I eat lunch at everyday. There you see the regulars, the divorced, the mental breakdowns, and the mid- life crisis folk. The people who commit spontaneous acts for once in their life, and end up screwing themselves over. Now, they all hibernate here, in a bed of depression, and the funky aftertaste of hazelnut coffee. My eyes were half closed, and blood Shot scarlet. I looked like a stoned chimp, but sadly, this was my normal appearance. I don’t do drugs, I only wish I had that excuse. Everyday I came to this cafe, nothing ever happened. I liked that. Today I managed to lift my head from the steam that crept up, and around my ears. I could almost hear the aroma. I sat by the window today. I guess I decided that it would be nice to watch people get on the ferry. The ferry’s destination was Nantucket. The image of flower beds lining white picket fences along a strip of beach, popped in my rusty mind. I hadn’t thought of a memory like that in awhile. My legs decided to work today. I found myself running. Could I be dreaming? I never act like this. I bought a ticket for thirty bucks, was it worth it?. When have I ever been to a place that didn’t seem relevant with the weather. It was a heavy winter, a great time to go on a family vacation by yourself.I looked around the boat to see of my surroundings, but blurry environments, result in blurry thoughts. The ferry was relatively small, but fit for the five droopy looking zombies (including myself) that slumped in the bright orange chairs. I sat on the middle deck next to an open window, in hopes that I would catch a cold, or a flu of some sort after this. I don't know why I like to be sick, maybe it’s because it gives me an excuse to look like s*** all the time. A breeze of snow and rain slapped me in the face, through the crack of the window. My hands were laid on the table, blood no longer pumped in them, or at least it felt that way. A young attractive woman smiled at me, and I looked away. God it’s like I ignore every goddamn woman who shows me even a spec of attention. I act as if im with someone, as if things were still the same. The ferry’s horn blew, we were here. So where’s a middle aged man supposed to go in mid- winter, in Nantucket. For sure there were no tours. Also, I could count on no stores being open where I could buy a neon colored T-shirt with the logo of Nantucket on it. So, in the case of being stranded for an hour and a half, I went to the beach. Thank god I brought boots. I have learned over the years from my kids its always smart to pack yourself in layers and be prepared for the coldest weather. The snow was piled three inches high, which reached the tip of my shins. I trudged along the beach for a half mile, when I came across a barn. Not a typical red barn, no, this one was faded bright purple. An odd color, but then again this is Nantucket, and people paint their real estate for summer attraction. The doors and windows were nonexistent, just like my heart; broken and shattered. The paint inside was chipped and faded, like the way my brain worked. Every time I did something irrational another part of my mind would walk off, and never come back. This place reminded me a lot of myself. The wood on the floors was not high quality, in fact it was pretty generic, not even a brand name, just like me. In other words I was the king of ordinary, nothing special. The wood had sunk itself into the wet turf of mud, and old hay. It was weak just like my bones. I couldn’t even hold myself upright anymore. Besides the four walls and a caved in attic, there were no objects other than a tire swing in the room. My memories now only consist of the past ten or twenty years. However, looking at this tire swing, I imagined myself at the age of six or seven, swinging. Pumping my young legs, my head back and searching these walls as they spin around me. As if I were flying. I yearned for this feeling again, this innocence, I once felt. So in the event I took the liberty of placing myself upon the tire swing. The rubber device, looked about twice my age. I started moving my legs in a periodic movement. Back and forth, back and forth. I found myself in the swing of a pendulum. I pumped once more to touch the ceiling. The second I laid my half wrinkled hand on the languorous wood, a surge of energy exploded through my veins, as if my body were the Metro route of New York City, and all the trains were moving at once. As the wheels on the trains pumped, I pumped. As the horn on the trains blew, I screamed. As the lights on the train lit up, I lit up. I was one with this train. I was glowing, I was screaming, and I felt six again. I may have looked like a silly old mad man, but I felt alive again, and I didn’t care. This was my simple mind at the age of six, the only thing on my mind, was the trains.I heard a rip, I swung my head back up and my eyes became wide. The rope that was holding myself, and the tire up was ripping. While the swing was going down, I myself was still flying. I should have known that a man of my age and weight could not be held up by a swing made especially for a child. THUMP! I landed on my a***, and just missed the wet hay, but I wasn’t upset and I didn’t want my Mommy... no I just laughed.