Production (part 1): Rat

The little man had rat like qualities. He was small in a vulnerable way that suggested he might be able to run forever. He scrunched his nose when thinking and could not help but picture him in the sewer sniffing out food.

I am big, bigger than the V.A. wants me to be, bigger than the U.S. Government wants me to. I feel strong and capable and can run mile after mile, or could have before a bout of tendonitis and this fucking blister. I look at this little person I wonder what it would be like to be so slight and run in the morning. I watch little people running. Their legs effortlessly gliding along the ground, bounding into the air with each step makes me so jealous.

When I run it is akin to attempting to punch holes through the earth. Each Tendon shattering step, mile after mile, leaving a trail of destruction behind me. As I see the little people glide through their runs. I imagine the image I leave emblazoned on their brains.

A hulking figure fighting gravity and losing.

I ran in Rome one time. I wore a beat up pair of Chuck’s. I ran down Via Varese and my footsteps echoed off the surrounding buildings, Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Just before I quit of embarrassment I fell behind two old people. They stopped their leisurely stroll and pressed themselves up against the buildings to our left staring at me as if the allies were advancing yet again into Roma. I felt bad for the fear in their eyes. I wouldn’t have run them down. But then again the sidewalks were narrow and the streets were filled with suicidal scooter owners. Maybe it would have come down to me of them.

The blister was only a blister for a short time. I popped it and as an Afghani Vet told me, “remove the skin and keep it dry,” I did and life started to suck immediately. The thing is like a sloping valley of discomfort. Starting near my middle toe it slopes down to the ball of my foot into a deep rivet of pain. I think I rubbed the bottom of my foot to the muscle.

My wife looked at. She almost threw up but still managed to laugh and say, “no it didn’t.”

The little rat like man spits out in instructions that I am meant to remember. The copier works this way.

File the paper work this way. When something needs to go to set, do it this way.

When I don’t tell you to do something don’t bother me.

I am bored. I can’t stop yawning. Tears are leaking from my eyes. I follow pretending the fire in my foot at each step is a sacrifice for getting a credit on an indy film with super hero actors and a Saturday night live performer. He stops his prattle as if editing a line just written into a computer. Looks at me a second and I am sure he is about to insult me.

But he doesn’t and the duldrum of the rest of my 11 hour and forty-five minute day continues.