Lost and found in a half an hour…

4:00am…”damn this place is spooky when it is not full of laughter…and I hate sweeping…the thing about sweeping is that it is a thankless job that is never really done…a broom is powerless in relation to dust…and that’s why I don’t like sweeping, it reminds me that I am just the janitor. My name is Tiny and I am as ironic as dust, cuz I am as they use to say in the old days before propriety perverted the language, fat…but never to my face. People hide when they call me fat the way dust hides in a corner laughing at me, the fat man sweeping…”

4:18 am…”what’s this…under a table. Someones left a bag. Now who would have done that…?”

4:20 am…Tiny is in his car laughing – delirious – beaming – shaking…and driving faster than is sensible for a man who has just got lucky. Very lucky, in a dis-honest but agreeable to Tiny sort of way. So lucky and so blinded by the illusion of luck that he fails to notice the car that is following him to his new home at the edge of nowhere…

4:30am…dust begins to gather and fall and find the cracks and crevices – to fill in the voids of a big mans life…and rust, a friend of dust begins the long haul process of converting Tiny’s car from a shiny and useful metal object into an even reddish brown tangle of…almost.

Poetman

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One Response

  1. Cool bananas. Plot. I must catch up, what’s in that bag?

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