Prologue

In Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, at the top of the Mount Washington is the overlook. At this area, you can see all of Downtown on top of several standing circular platforms surrounded by railings. Next to it is the incline- a street car looking vehicle which runs on tracks down the mountain into stations square. You can also see a statue of when George Washington met . It’s all quite beautiful, but when you pan in, there’s me, standing on the overlook with a leather suitcase. I stared at Downtown, at the beautiful skyscrapers that still have marks from the Great St. Patrick’s Flood of 1936.
But this was business, I couldn’t get distracted. So I opened up my suitcase and examined all of the things inside. After about eight seconds, I extracted the content, all my work, and threw began tossing them over the railing, onto the mountain below me. What didn’t land immediately danced and fluttered and spiraled through the air
Some people got married up here, some received their first kiss here, tourists take their kids here, me, I watched my dreams violently lashing in the air.
There was a street below the mountains, but the cars would blow it away. Nonetheless, something felt wrong, watching it twirl, I was waiting for something to happen. I waited for it to form a dragon with gnashing teeth larger than life that would eat me alive. Pr o was waiting for a gun to blow me away. Or maybe a large hand would pull me down with it. I was waiting for anything to come from this. But nothing seemed to happen as I walked away.
And like that I was terrified, paranoid of the consequences from my imagination. Once my constant escape, my beautiful muse, I feared my mind, I feared thinking. And most of all, I never wanted to draw again.

Living Lines
(A page from the sketchbook of Brandon Divide)