Sometimes I want to move so fast, I'd blur in photos. In the right place, I'm no black hole but a comet.
Come on. Wouldn't you want to outrace a useless wish or awful memory?
. . .
The trick is to move in a way that doesn't render you invisible; you must appear to move slowly or not at all. All ears, stone-cut. An arrow singing to its rightful place.
You see a few who can do this in this corner of the world. A flinty-eyed lady divorcee with arms as steady as anchors, who can re-braid the seat of a chair quicker than you can finish your second beer. Foxy Johnny, the Scotsman who smoothly knocks every ball into the right pocket but in a way that doesn't make you feel like a loser. You see what I mean?