I used to work for a book publisher. One of the books I publicized was a big, beautiful atlas with a huge fold out map. Some evening, when I still lived uptown, I carefully detached the map and smoothed it out. I decided to tack it above the television in my bedroom.

When I started at the magazine, the small cubicle was already decorated with the previous publicist’s binders and memos. I removed most of the pictures and old, dated documents. I kept the small map on the back wall. I used to look at a lot when I turned around to talk to The Artist. There is a list on the map of the largest countries by land mass. The Artist let me quiz him. He usually forgot Argentina.

I moved downtown and brought the big atlas map with me. This time, I tacked it over my bed. I have green covers and a big, bed-sized blue map above my pillows. I forget about it sometimes. I sleep away from it.

I forget about the map at work, too. The Artist moved to Italy and I don’t talk much with the art director behind me now. I don’t turn around and stare at the blue green world. I do work.

I probaby spend 90% of my life with my back to the word. Or, one might say, with the world behind me.



2 responses to “Maps

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