Some things are meant to pass, some just remain forever

As he opened his eyes and gazed the open sea roaring in front of him, he realized how incredibly small he was. With an ego of an eagle and a efficiency track record of a German executioner, he was baffled by how mediocre he suddenly felt. The massive strength of what he saw silenced him as nothing previously could have. It was easy for once. It was simple. He was in the sole possession of this great wonder of the world.

He looked down at his wrist watch and realized he had stood there for an hour. The waves were bashing the sharp edges of the cliffs, and the white foam it created bounced to fall on his three hundred dollar shoes, completely ruining their finish. He was wearing a suit. He had taken the car from the office. A black Lexus. It was not the finest of cars, but it gave him a sense of might. He needed that, but right now he just felt pathetic thinking of his belongings. All these things. Everything cost a fortune, but was worth absolutely nothing. It meant nothing, not now. Not like this. This was meaning, this was beauty, this was wealth. Knowing this place was only a stone throw from the city made it even worse he didn’t come here more often.

Should he return to the city tonight, he contemplated for himself. Perhaps not. Perhaps just check into a shabby hotel. The sense of being below upper levels of the societal rim, made him think clearly. It was a long time ago he felt the edge. He had stopped running a long time ago. Nowadays, barely walking. The distance from one client to another seemed to shorten as his reputation grew. Although it was a great reputation he could barely hold its weight. Every meeting, a new sense of understanding for being anxious. It was as though he was reaching some kind of anxiety nirvana. Some day he would have felt all aspects of that shivering feeling, that burning sensation, that nauseous cramp almost crippling him to the brink of not being able to move. The entry. The first deep breath. The hand shake. That conscious look into the eyes of the unsuspecting prospect. Another breath. Then the sound of his voice. Clarity comes back. Focus beyond the realms of a telescope. The pitch. The reaction. That perky little twitch from the edge of a greedy mouth. A hooked client. One more account.

He looked back at his watch. Another hour had passed. His trophy wife was probably deep into her sixth Mohito of the evening. How did it come to this? Where did he loose his track? He took two steps to the right. Looked up. Felt the salt in his eyes. Took a deep breath and turned around. ”Enough”.