writing taglines for a comedian friend I don't know. it was either that or a list of word association that ticked through my mind as I couldn't sleep tonight. last night. wrote it down I told myself of the book that was hers, she wrote her initials in bold red. across the front plate, it led to the middle of the book. in red sharpie just to piss on my expectations. tonight. yes.
vomit. that's redundant.
laughter. ditto.
gnashing of teeth. completely unnecessary.
that's probably why I kicked the science fiction actor in the back, while they were waiting in line at the restroom of the comic convention. why was he here anyway? he hadn't acted in years.
i did respect him though.
i owed him that much. respect and a kick.
after he wiped away god knows what he smiled amicably and told me that i was a great patriot.
you said it mister.
It was then that he shifted in the cab. The sway of the road was indicative of the country. The rhythmic texture of cobblestone made way for the rutted mud. He wouldn't have made the journey, if not for the grey evening and the wash of rain, as this but an afterthought to his singular thought. This wholly farcical affair in Welsea was to draw to a close, and Hulbert Frees was to be the artist and agent of its death.
He pulled down his cap, a light mist collecting along his clothes. The driver must be soaked through.
Hulbert stared out into sea, but couldn't make out the difference in grey. The country was unimaginably flat. The grass cliffs contrasted like a torn page. The cab's lamp let out - the oil had grown to lively in the glass and put out the wick. There was no rest. He could only put his arms, stretched to across the entire length of the couch, upon each door to right himself. It took all of his concentration not to extinguish his gullet. "Redundant indeed."
He wondered why the horses did not break their legs in this ruddy soup.
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