to be free? Free not to pay, say or do, free to be alone and without task and a-wandering? Free to bob on the oceans and end up hunched and fossilized by the trade winds over the formica table, plastic tubs of biscuits and the tang of whisky your reward for your dolphin driftings? What freedom is that, more than that longing to step out, run from things? All freedom fantasy is in shadowy contrast to the brash business of living. Freedom might lie in the glimpses and pauses? You can run or stay, there’s no way of knowing who is the greater fool.
