Appetite for Distraction – Another Day.

He wakes up to The smell of Cut grass and gasoline. Jailed journalists in Egypt. Convicted editor in England. Helicopter gunships given to Egypt by America. Impressed British Prime Minister. He drinks a coffee. He drinks some water. He tries a push up. it is marginally successful. He tries a pull up. He cannot pull up. He rests two eggs and a zucchini drowned in yellow mustard. It does not taste as desperate as it sounds. It is hot outside like a sauna but a sauna he would happily spend hours in sitting next to hot coals fanning himself. He works magic with lights. He walks into traffic but as luck would have it is synchronous with the red light. This is an accident but no one would know that from his demeanor. Deep inside he weeps with relief. He runs onto the train. All the carriages are new there are new carriages. He is confused. He remembers Rik Mayall is dead. This makes him sad. He liked Rik Mayall for making him laugh. He remembers drinking vodka at School one weekend for the first time or the second time in a classrom at School and watching Bottom Live and being drunk and laughing loudly laughing too loudly because that’s what he thought The Drunk People did and he was drunk and wanted desperately to be liked as he is still desperate to be  liked but that part of him is shielded protected less powerful now but ready at any moment to reclaim a throne. Then he remembers a story sometime someone told him about Rik Mayall who did an unpleasant thing but was that a dream everyone is unpleasant and confidences like that are not to be shared. He watches his past crumble like dry sandcastles. All the dry sandcastles blowing up pretty beige clouds in the intermittent breeze. He shouldn’t be thinking about masturbation on the elevator but he is. He could grind one out here and no one would know would they no one would care they would film it and he would be YouTube famous which is still famous. He watches as passengers help an old man find a wallet. He does not help. He does not need to the old man already has too much help. He is happy to get his wallet back which he dropped at the entrance to the bus. This happened in the morning. Now it is the evening. So much has happened already today. He eats some tasty food. He reads Gore Vidal novels. He inhales the sweet narcotic of America’s Got Talent through his eyes. He watches a beautiful dress being worn perfectly. He goes to sleep.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

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

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