It was 3002 E. Broad in Church Hill where I collapsed after the third sixty hour week. The two outside miters didn’t meet up like I wanted and there was air conditioning in that room, so I un-strapped my toolbelt and lay down on the fresh carpet. I was back in my room
at the Durant Hotel after a good day surfing. The traffic out on Broad were gentle sets of smooth left and right breakers crashing perfectly against my hull. Enough of this, I thought and I will
wash back out to deep water and perhaps sink to that trench off the Carolina coast.
Back there a man could find his footing, in sand never touched
by surface light, and start walking. Walking long enough
till the translucent pink majesty of that darkness embraced him with
miles worth of tentacles, gentle as Egyptian embalmers, finally holy
enough to be devoured by that singular enormous eye.