Bad Options

I can make almost anything look good on paper. This has been a problem. A Cessna over Virginia taught me to read the instruments; a Manhattan studio taught me to take things apart; Shanghai’s thunderstorms keep correcting the forecast. I still want the job that wasn’t advertised, the air under the wheels, a tomorrow I couldn’t have written myself. But I look for the crack before admiring the finish. More than a hundred thousand words have made me suspicious of a good story, especially mine. The embarrassment should be survivable. The surprise can be as large as it likes. Here, today’s prices of fear rise beneath your hand and settle with theta. I’m looking for an option, not an alibi.