Jim

The editor of the Scene is in the hospital. He’s been unconscious for a week. I feel very helpless. I wish there were something to do to fix him. Like, we all pitch in and build a house or paint a room or… you know. Something.

I saw him just the week before. The weather was lovely. I was on my way to a meeting in East Nashville. I’d stopped to get an ice cream cone at McDonald’s and I was crossing the Demonbreun Street bridge. He was walking toward me, out taking a stroll in the beautiful weather. I honked and waved. He smiled and waved back.

It was nice. It felt small-town-ish in a way that’s still possible in Nashville.

Jim is not that old. He has young children. It seems really unfair. Fairness, of course, being a concept like “deserves,” that assumes a kind of justice in the Universe that, in truth, doesn’t seem to exist.

Time is so short. We are so fragile. We’re all very ordinary and yet, irreplaceable.