I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

I try very hard not to predict the end of a movie before the final scene.

I have a habit of assessing the main character's conflict and personality traits then imagining the outcome.

Certain genres typically adhere to a structure.

In horror films, people die, but the protagonist survives, not without a ton of hair-raising scares.

Once the character starts walking down into a dark basement over an eerie soundtrack, I drift off.

Scenarios and wedding movies play out in predictable ways too,

but in real life, as we know, relationships are hit or miss.

Today's poem illustrates how difficult it is to plot the fate of a couple, especially one whose ups and downs are played out publicly.

How It Will End

By Denise Duhamel

We're walking on the boardwalk, but stop when we see a lifeguard at his girlfriend fighting.

We can't hear what they're saying. his girlfriend fighting.

We can't hear what they're saying, but it is as good as a movie.

We sit on a bench to find out how it will end. I can tell by her body language he's done something really bad.

She stands at the bottom of the ramp that leads to his hut. He tries to walk halfway down to meet her, but she keeps

signaling, don't come closer. My husband says, boy, he's sure in for it.

And I say, he deserves whatever's coming to him.

My husband thinks the lifeguards cheated,

but I think she's sick of him only working part time or maybe he forgot

to put the rent in the mail. The lifeguard tries to reach out and she holds her hand like Diana Ross when she performed,

...