Can you imagine me buttoned up in a peacoat wearing a beret tilted to one side and a blue and white scarf wrapped around my neck? Can you then imagine a 5 dollar bill falling out of my peacoat and the same wind which has whipped up white-foamed waves upon my lake, whisks away my dollar bill?
And then a 100 yard mad dash after it?
It falling end-over-end down the street and then up over a curb, finally stopping for a precarious split-second moment at the foot of a street lamp?
Well it did.
And I snatched it up and stuffed it back into my coat pocket.
crumple-crumple.
one hand in a pocket now, the other on top of my beret
my whole frame tilting against the wind, walking towards a building.
"Hello there."
A voice.
Patrick.
People say he is creepy.
He goes to YCP.
Scribble-scribble
I say hello too.
"Why are you here?"
Lunch at the Cafeteria.
He wants my name.
I dont feel like giving it to him.
Walking away now, leaving him with a bemused look on his face.
Now the decent into the basement piled high with bric-a-brac computer parts.
A greasy haired guy. Sinister?
Scribble-scribble. my pen on paper.
"I'd like to donate a computer."
Blonde haired blue eyed Ayran turns.
"ok."
Now back out into fierce wind.
Key in lock. Disengage deadbolt.
Unload outdated technology
key in ignition.
Turn.
ca-ca-ca-ca-catches.
humming.
shift into D.
Go.
Gone.
Comments
jennifer | February 26, 2009 - 12:32
I like the 'sounds' you create with the words, a very interesting technique used effectively.
However, I think the layout needs polish, since the opening is very 'normal' prose, which doesn't quite fit with the rest of the piece.
Also, note that '5' and '100' in prose should be the words, not the digits.
J x