Joey sat in silence on his couch every evening. He was like a calm patient Buddha but then like a Buddha you began to wonder if he wasn't actually retarded in mind and soul and simply sat there for years because he didn't have the capacity to actually get off his posterior and do something with his ennui. He sat. Said nothing - invited nothing, and I bet he still does, if he is still alive, if he ever was. Maybe now he's teaching teenagers with mania or digging wells in West Africa or shelving it in a supermarket. Perhaps, at least, he finally liberated himself from self imposed exile. Like I did from my straight jacket.
2 comments:
Do I see this as the second in a series of character studies? If so then go for it. Again, try formatting as a block of text and see what you think. Get maybe two dozen of these together, call the whole thing, what? maybe Still Lives and you've a wee chapbook.
Something to keep you out of trouble during those long winter nights.
Yes. I've got quite a few of them now. I really should get them together into a chapbook or even combine them into a short story.
Re the formatting, honestly, it's meant to be one block, but the spacing when I'm coping it has caused some problems. I can't seem to make those lines single anymore. Stifled by bizzare techno-glitches.
Work to be done/
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