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This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue... Down in the Dirt magazine (v097) (the August 2011 Issue) You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This writing also appears in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “Catch Fire in the Treetops” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

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The Closet

Mel Waldman

    I live in a closet. But each day, I leave my little home and the safety of my microscopic universe. I saunter off into the labyrinthine streets and walk the tightrope of life and death. I don’t belong. Do you?
    I trudge across the Manhattan Bridge to work. I’ve got a small space too in the mammoth building in the distance, a newsstand I own in the center of the ground floor. Yet I don’t belong, not even to my newsstand and customers. Only when I write do I belong to a group of iconoclastic misfits.
    But now, I stop suddenly and gaze at the majestic building and its twin and the sprawling sun above.
    6:45 AM, it’s a magnificent day, multicolored gold and orange and yellow-brown leaves falling from the Brooklyn trees behind me and shards of Manhattan sunlight rushing to earth and into my gold eyes.
    6:55 AM, I get ready to open my minuscule space to the public. I hope to sell a lot of papers on this glittering autumn day. But if I don’t, I will write a few lines of beauty and truth. And perhaps, one word or line will move future readers for eternity.
    How long is eternity?
    7:00 AM, I open up.
    7:30 AM, throngs of people dart and flit across the vast ground floor. A dozen customers queue up in front of the newsstand. Most will not buy newspapers from me. I sell coffee and donuts they crave.
    It’s good to love something or someone, I believe. And being loved is beautiful, I imagine. I’ve never been loved.
    7:45 AM, the line for donuts and coffee is very long. After the 120-minute rush hour, I will rest for a while. Business will slow down. And I will write.
    8:30 AM, I dream of love and peace of mind.
    8:45 AM, my mind drifts off. I’m unhappy. Why? I’ve asked myself this question my entire life. It’s an existential puzzle. Tonight I’ll treat myself to something special, maybe a small pizza with plenty of cheese and strawberry shortcake for desert. I’m five-feet-four and 110 pounds. I won’t get fat. Well, I’ve got the whole day to decide what I’ll eat for supper. I’ve got plenty of time.

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