Appetite for Distraction – Another Day.

He wakes up. He has short hair which is unusual for him. He has also shaved which is also unusual. He had finished reading Portnoy’s Complaint and then posted a review on his goodreads page. A page which nobody reads. Why is he posting reviews that no one will read? Is it because he thinks his views have value? He doesn’t think too hard about it and as he stands on the metro staring at the man next to him who he is sure is Timothy Geithner the Treasure Secretary but why would the Treasury Secretary be on the metro just standing there reading a book, hanging from the loop that helps you stand when you have to stand? He keeps staring at the man who he thinks is Timothy Geitner and imagines that if it is Timothy Geithner what would he say to him? Does Timothy Geithner like being on the metro? Does he feel like he is a man in a world of zombies pretending to be a zombie in case they all smell his power and attack all at once asking for their jobs and the taxes? What can you say to a man like that? Nothing. There is nothing to say because he is a cipher, a representative of something else. He stops thinking about this and starts reading more of The Puppet Masters by Robert A. Heinlein. He is enjoying it despite even because of the casual unashamed 1950s sexism, brutal unapologetic machismo and the fact that it seems that world will be saved from alien invasion by full scale compulsory nudism. It reminds him of thoughts he had as a child when he wished that everyone would be naked because he wanted to see boobies but then he realised that if everyone was naked then nothing would be special about it because the mystery would gone so he decided he liked that people had to wear clothes because the element of mystery was more a more powerful aphrodisiac. In the way that a small alleyway that you have never walked down is always a more compelling location than the one that you have walked down thus taking the potential for mystery and swapping it for the tedium of the everyday. In the evening when he walks back to the metro he sees Zalmay Khalilzad just walking round Dupont Circle on his phone. Who would have thought that the previous US Ambassador to Afghanistan could just walk around without guards or retinue just walking and talking on the phone living his life without any problem whatsoever. Life is strange and relentless and not neat like story books. He eats pot roast when he gets home and cleans the kitchen and does the recycling and then goes to bed and watches another episode of Birdy The Mighty the anime he had started a few days ago. It is getting weird. He sleeps.

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The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

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