It’s been so long. His feet seem far away, at the other end of a transcontinental phone line. He has to wait each time he tries to take a step, has to make sure he’s getting through, that he hasn’t been cut off, marooned here atop the mass of his body while his feet wait at the other end of a line gone dead. He tries again and with the sudden fear of falling, his hands fly out for balance.
The first step is not the hardest. It’s the ones that come after.
He wills himself to keep moving. Damn it all, it’s just too MUCH. Come one, FEET – do your thing. No, I’m not the one goofing off here, YOU are the ones who … what’s that? Yeah right, I know WHERE the buck stops. Now shut up and walk. Or I’ll … cut you off from your inheritance? Whatever. Just DO it.
The momentum picks up. Balance – still uncertain. Direction – erratic. Speed – uneven, but who the hell cares, dammit, we’re back in business again, we’re MOVING. Don’t cut the amp, boys, Elvis has NOT left the building.
He keeps walking. Staggers, recovers. Grins. Hits “Publish Post”.
Right, then, this show is back on the road.