Perspective.

That’s what they call it, in art, when parallel lines meet at infinity.

I was looking for its other meaning last week, in New Mexico, trying to find a different way of looking at things.

She followed me.

She followed me just so she could take Dustin away.

Toni didn’t want Dustin for herself, though. No. My ex never wanted to be a mother in the first place. She only wanted the kid so she could keep him from me. Now there’s another way of looking at things. A new perspective.

We never could see eye to eye, Toni and I. Even when we agreed on something, it’d be for different reasons. I liked country music because of the lyrics. She liked it because of the hot men in tooled leather boots and cowboy hats.

Johnny Cash shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

I shot a woman in Albuquerque just so she’d leave me alone. But that doesn’t scan, does it? It’ll never be in a song.

I’ve lived my whole life in Regrettistan, working the regrettium mines, but there was one decision I can live with, at least until they find me. And find me they will. I can’t walk the rails forever.

The rails stretch before me, straight and narrow. I left that path long ago. And I’m starting to realize that the parallel lines will never meet, after all.