Daniel Adler Alive

daniel adler
I feel like Jessica Alba.

Tonight I went to Wreck Room, probably my favorite bar in Bushwick. I wound up talking to Albert. He seemed so young with his big arms and Brooklyn biking hat and he was until I met him later at the bar after he bought me a whiskey and beer special for five dollars, good guy that he is. And he told me I’m a young cat after I told him I’m twenty-three.

He was born in Belize and lived in Texas near Ft. Hood when his brother was in the army. He showed me pictures in the way an older drunk person does, proud of his life, his daughter, pretty, Alexis. We had taken pictures together earlier and I took pictures of him again after I had noticed the light sprinkle of gray on his beard. He was fifty-three.

Oh, ever since I wrote out how I was feeling in Daniel Adler Alone I feel so much better. Last night at Pine Box Chris told me I was crazy when I told him I had turned over a new leaf, he said, something in your eyes is crazy when I asked him how I was crazy. And he was right — tonight he told me that I can be whoever I want to be, that the IDEAL self isn’t that far away from the real self (which is what my book is about mostly, told through memory) and all we have to do is believe in ourselves.

Two hundred fortynine words is a good amount of blog post an that’s all I got to say.

By Daniel Ryan Adler

Daniel Adler writes fiction and nonfiction and is finishing his MFA at University of South Carolina.

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