Wednesday, December 14, 2011


Seen on the Purple Line to Linden at about 8:20 a.m.

Gary points his lump of a nose towards the rain-streaked window and thinks, thinks, thinks. The drops of rain fracture the glow from streetlights and neon signs into broken halos, and Gary finds himself trying to count the pieces. No! No. Focus.

His sad eyes glance down at his lap, at his wringing hands, and then back to the gloomy, gray horizon. He thinks, thinks, thinks. He thinks about how the money’s all gone now, that last dollar bill slipping from his hand in exchange for a black coffee. He thinks of all the rejections from prospective employers, the hours waiting for non-existent phone calls, and the cold, typed voice of the emails from nameless secretaries: “We regret to inform you that the position has been offered to someone else.” He thinks of his children, how he can’t support them. He mumbles their names, and their names are heavy on his tongue and lips.

What will he do? What should he do? What can you do when you have nothing? Desperation. This sick, slippery feeling in his gut must be desperation. What’s that saying? Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

DWChitown was awesome last night. It kind of ended up being more of a brainstorming session, which was a fun new departure. I don't think I have too much else to say right now...

Have you guys read any of NPR's 10 Best Novels of 2011? I haven't read a single one. I should do that. You know, right after I read all the books I still haven't read that are sitting on my shelf.  

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