I spent long, slow hours in the sun haggling with men who could afford more but wouldn’t.

I was out matched, out witted, but did my best to keep up.

My teeth hurt. My legs hurt. I kept this to myself.

And for some reason still unknown to me - I left my things.

The cart I had built with my own hands to transport my things.

The crates I had collected over the years to protect my things.

The tools I had saved for and purchased with specific reason in mind.

I left them all there in the city streets.

I took only an orange and my cigarettes and began to walk.

I walked and walked with no destination in mind, but I will tell you, all the while

I felt a pull, a vague call in the wind.

Soon enough, as the sun began to set, I found myself by the shore.

 Where a long line of tall Royal Palm led me up a dirt road to a grand hotel by the sea.

It was painted a brilliant white and was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

I cannot tell you why this affected me so but maybe you understand.

I knew I was in a place, a world I did not belong, but wandered in anyway.

The doors were open.

And inside, all doors and windows were open and ceilings soared.

Tables were set with silver and linen and flowers from the field.

I did not see staff or guest or loved ones but took them to be present.

I heard the preparation of an event, the clang of dish and glass, the whir of a vacuum in the distance.

And in some far off room, a brass band played a song lazy and slow, just out of tune and time.

They started and stopped and laughed in between.

And for some reason unknown to me I cannot tell you how this made me feel but maybe you understand.

Sean Sullivan 2013