He really had a disgusting mind,obsessed with reality.One grows up,acquires an imagination,a sense of humour to make it matter less and less .But no,he was one of those men who never grew up.
He was one of those men who wore spectacles just for effect.Bifocals which he didnt need.Of course the sky seemed attached to the ground at an odd angle,curiously unaligned.But he liked it just so.It seemed to him the Correct Perspective.
When he shut his eyes it made no difference.He carried the clear imprint of chairs and tables and coffee mugs into the territory of his mind.
To get on with the story..
What story?
Did he have one?
Once,but it dried up and cracked in the wind.
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in this rush to think out of the box ,I forgot to see whats inside.
2 comments:
reality makes the worst sort of story.
did you know you have a really messed up way of punctuating? not that it's at all relevant.
as an afterthought- all the good stories are taken anyway.
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