In a little country town, there is a crossroads. That’s all there is there in the center of that town, just the crossroads. Buildings line the sides of the streets that meet, share their brief hello in crisscross formation, and then exit the town. This is a country town with two main roads, both lead out. The roads do not lead in, because there is nothing there. Well, there is a sidewalk, and it runs parallel to the street, always runs parallel, and never faster than the street. On that sidewalk there are cracks, cracks that streak in wild patterns without much purpose. But the cracks, the sidewalk, the street, the crossroads, and even the little country town have a purpose.

The only problem is, it hasn’t found it yet.

(Hmmm…what an odd paragraph. Looking at it, I can’t quite figure where it came from, and don’t worry, you’re not the only one reading it who thinks it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t think it makes any sense either. But I had to write this evening, and that’s what appeared, and this is my writing practice blog, so that’s what you get. Someday I’ll stop trying to convince myself that this stuff that I write doesn’t need an excuse to find it’s way onto this blog, but until then, I will continue to make excuses. It’s the way of the writer.)