Crossroads

Remember that Bone Thugs N Harmony song, "Crossroads" - the syncopation, the extra-discursive lyrics, the overall Cleveland funk vibe pervading that shit?

I do too. And - of course - there are times in a life when the metaphor of a crossroads, or if you prefer Frost, A road not taken, holds true. Is now one of those times?

Autopilot has its function. Sometimes money needs saving, or endurance needs building, or emotions need attending: yet if you decide that you yourself are someone who speaks the unmitigated truth, even if that truth never leads the internal monologue by which you pass the next 24 hours, you make the choice and abide.

I have a handlebar mustache. For the next 24 hours, I will rock this handlebar mustache, even if someone (rightly) suggests that I look like a pedophile. I do not have enough money in my bank account to buy a simulacrum of self-respect, so I will just assume that there is no need to make that purchase. Life affords few opportunities for upper lip hair, and I am taking this one and running with it. Pictures (I hope) are forthcoming.