Here I am, watching the Mariners pay tribute to Star Wars with explosives invented during the Han dynasty, preparing to write about Tai Walker. The clever puns and metaphors practically write themselves and then quickly stab themselves to death for having been so obvious. But I think about those fireworks. The night sky choreographed with explosions and beautiful colors that bloom and fizzle into a sulfuric cloud which descends upon Safeco like the death of a party. Our ears ring in the aftermath. Our closed eyelids painted with flecks of ghost light. The celebration fades upon neurons and synapses and yet the cloud remains until finally, it too is gone, shattered invisible upon the atmosphere by air currents and moisture and particle warfare.
The Taijuan Walker of Right Now
