The man in the (clean) sparkly pajamas sat on his sofa staring at his Oxford-clad toes. He felt empty inside. His writer was busy and there was nothing for him to do.
He reflected on the deli, the drycleaners, the wallpaper on his kitchen walls. All for what? he thought. His life was in limbo. A conglomeration of possibility, potential, significance... snuffed out when the real world of a real writer became more captivating than the invented one he inhabited. He simply wasn't, not anymore. Maybe never would be again.
Well. That's an idea to make a guy feel good about himself.
No comments:
Post a Comment