Wright Left, by Peter Marks

He called it ‘Wright Left’. It was Nathan G. Wright’s delusional daft drift through the friction of life. The hay-fever days and the x-rated nights. The years and the fears that kept him alert. The fondness for smiles and the nurture of mirth. It is of his heart hostage friends, the invisible foes, his family and work. His joy and his woes. His thrill of the new and the place known as home. It is about the impatient long wait for some wisdom to show. There is the ups and the downs and the whisky drowned frets, that love was Wrights drug he truly supposed. So where is he now? God only knows. But SHE only lives in his head or so whispers go. And yes, he would smirk when his brain was not bent, life was a laugh. And time only went.