as long as the road lacks perspective

Many lifetimes ago, I was in an ambulance, on my way to the hospital. The sirens weren’t on. We weren’t going very fast. It was a cold March night, quite dark, raining. The guy riding with me, Jared, was 22 years old. He was wearing a snazzy red jacket, and his blond hair had been recently cut. He liked to paint pictures. I asked him how long he’d been an EMT; it was only his second week, and it was already getting to him.

“But you know, Pam, I just keep thinking about those deep-sea creatures. You and me, we’re in this ambulance, it’s raining, things are really fucked up, but right now, somewhere out there? Are deep-sea creatures.”

I’m not that person anymore, except I will always be that person, and somewhere, there will always be deep-sea creatures.

It’s a kraken, drawn for me by my friend Jason, and I walked around with the drawing folded up in my pocket for years. The tattoo itself was done by Daniel at the Pearl Harbor Gift Shop, in Toronto, and I love everything about it.