#1
'The light of dawn makes the most hideous things palatable' was what I thought as I saw, from the window of a bus, that orange glow peculiar to winter alighting on the steeples, cupolas, chandelier-clad atriums of the city I was leaving--Providence.

That morning was lovely, ineffably lovely, but soon I and everyone else whom I did not know had breathed a fog so thick onto the inside of the bus windows that all I could see was a sky/treeline dichotomy in grey and dark grey across the other side of the highway. So I went to sleep.

I slept through Connecticut on I-95 but, as usual, woke up in time to watch as we wrapped around the South Bronx housing projects looming close enough to the highway as to make discernible the individual plastic lawn chairs dotting the sad balconies. When you drive down the most moneyed stretch of highway on the East Coast, this sight is what greets you in New York. You cannot make it to the island free from guilt. Nor can you leave it free from guilt. Maybe you can if you take NJ Transit, but it would depend on where you got off. A Russian med student railing lines in his midtown studio apartment told me he knew plenty of people who had never in their lives left Manhattan. 'How perverse,' I thought as he offered me the pocket mirror and bill.

As the sun rose and I was wandering blearily somewhere between Columbia University and St. John the Divine, I remembered a day one high school summer back in Kentucky when the whole town was encircled in a double-rainbow all afternoon. Two concentric rings, the inner one with its spectrum in reverse. Nobody had ever seen anything so magnificent. We took pictures and held hands and shook our heads in unison. Then we had other things to attend to, so we dispersed. But the rainbow stayed all afternoon, unavoidable through kitchen-sink windows and rear-view mirrors, asserting itself quietly but powerfully longer than we were prepared to receive it. We said, 'I can't believe it's still there!' but we meant to say 'By what right has it not dissolved yet?' It's beauty wore us out, then began to tease us. That morning I saw a bit of rainbow over the East River no bigger than a kite, but that wasn't what reminded me.

I called her from Port Authority with a splitting headache and piss-stained jeans. As usual. I was incoherent on the phone. It's a fact that when I wake up confused, I stay confused all day. She was kind to me, though, she said she loved me, that she'd do anything to have me stay. And I remembered that she wore the same clothes that morning that she had when I dropped her off the night before, but I didn't care. I told her I loved her too and then I hung up the phone and got on my bus. There are two things in this world that I can always count on--she is one and my ability to keep a seat on the outbound bus to myself is the other.
#2
Hey Evan, let's do this!

Quote by *Truly Ninja*
'The light of dawn makes the most hideous things palatable' was what I thought as I saw, from the window of a bus, that orange glow peculiar to winter alighting on the steeples, cupolas, chandelier-clad atriums of the city I was leaving--Providence.

Wonderful, I loved the sonic that the list provided. The vocabulary didn't feel an ounce misplaced; it felt natural. In short there isn't much here to suggest on improvement.

That morning was lovely, ineffably lovely, but soon I and everyone else whom I did not know had breathed a fog so thick onto the inside of the bus windows that all I could see was a sky/treeline dichotomy in grey and dark grey across the other side of the highway. So I went to sleep.

The writing was lovely but the content felt a little bit of focus, by that I mean that it felt like it lost a bit pf momentum, in terms of climax, that the first stanza hinted. But i still loved the atmosphere here and the change of mood from the character; very multi-dimensional; well done.

I slept through Connecticut on I-95 but, as usual, woke up in time to watch as we wrapped around the South Bronx housing projects looming close enough to the highway as to make discernible the individual plastic lawn chairs dotting the sad balconies. When you drive down the most moneyed stretch of highway on the East Coast, this sight is what greets you in New York. You cannot make it to the island free from guilt. Nor can you leave it free from guilt. Maybe you can if you take NJ Transit, but it would depend on where you got off. A Russian med student railing lines in his midtown studio apartment told me he knew plenty of people who had never in their lives left Manhattan. 'How perverse,' I thought as he offered me the pocket mirror and bill.

I liked this very much Evan, its subtle, but fierce in execution. I believe there are some powerful references beneath this, at least that's what your writing makes me to suggest, and that makes things more exciting and optimistic-in terms of wanting to grasp more. A wonderful read.

As the sun rose and I was wandering blearily somewhere between Columbia University and St. John the Divine, I remembered a day one high school summer back in Kentucky when the whole town was encircled in a double-rainbow all afternoon. Two concentric rings, the inner one with its spectrum in reverse. Nobody had ever seen anything so magnificent. We took pictures and held hands and shook our heads in unison. Then we had other things to attend to, so we dispersed. But the rainbow stayed all afternoon, unavoidable through kitchen-sink windows and rear-view mirrors, asserting itself quietly but powerfully longer than we were prepared to receive it. We said, 'I can't believe it's still there!' but we meant to say 'By what right has it not dissolved yet?' It's beauty wore us out, then began to tease us. That morning I saw a bit of rainbow over the East River no bigger than a kite, but that wasn't what reminded me.

What does this mean exactly, Evan, "But that wasn't what reminded me"? The contrast between two entities that can't be specified rationally as mutual; these are all hard hitting thoughts that, as a reader, came to mine after reading what essentially was nothing but a reminiscence on a fine warm day.

I called her from Port Authority with a splitting headache and piss-stained jeans. As usual. I was incoherent on the phone. It's a fact that when I wake up confused, I stay confused all day. She was kind to me, though, she said she loved me, that she'd do anything to have me stay. And I remembered that she wore the same clothes that morning that she had when I dropped her off the night before, but I didn't care. I told her I loved her too and then I hung up the phone and got on my bus. There are two things in this world that I can always count on--she is one and my ability to keep a seat on the outbound bus to myself is the other.

Nice, very graceful, to say the least. Because this in essence is only the fragment of the whole I thought that it would be unnecessary for me to go deeper in to this, as far as suggestions, because there's still more to it. But I most say I did enjoy this but before giving a full conviction I guess I would like to know more. But I did like this, but this didn't give me much of a full picture.


Overall this was a wonderful read, and I believe that you're improving, and, writing in prose, is very much your style. Thank you for sharing; I look forward to the continuation.

PS: If you have time please check out my latest piece called "The Absurdist"-here's a link: https://www.ultimate-guitar.com/forum/showthread.php?t=1004887 Thank you in advance.
#3
I'm blackdotting this 'cause I don't have time to say anything constructive, or even read through the thing right now.
#4
excellent, you know my thoughts on this, probably my favorite thing i've read in a few months.
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#5
Now that I've read this, I don't really have anything about it to criticize. It was clever, well-written and thought-provoking. You really shine when you're writing prose, and this was a perfect example of that. I love it.