He wakes up. Verbs, nouns and adjectives are everywhere. He writes. He makes a coffee. It is hot outside and he is sweating. He watches as boats rust to nothing as peace rusts to nothing as civilisation rusts to nothing. So many faces yet not enough faces to go around. He uses a coffee maker. He uses a mug. He uses a shower. He uses a sponge. He uses soap. He uses scales. He uses a toothbrush. He uses toothpaste. He uses an escalator. He uses a prepaid card. He uses the train. He uses a prepaid card. He uses an escalator. He uses a door. He uses an elevator. He uses a coffee machine. He uses a mug. He uses a credit card. He uses a knife and a fork and a spoon and a plate. He uses his hands. He uses a door. He uses a computer. He uses a mouse. He uses a spoon. He uses a spoon. He uses a light switch. He uses his bed. He goes to sleep.
Another Day.
Published by
The Sleepcoat League
Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado. View all posts by The Sleepcoat League