Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Cliff

Seen on the Red Line to 95th at about 7:45 a.m.

Cliff seizes the red-and-white-striped scarf and tugs the man’s smug face close to his own. He screams: “What are you doing with a fucking scarf like this?” The other passengers look away. The man does not change his expression—haughty, calm, cruel—but his cheeks and lips grow purple as Cliff pulls the scarf tighter. Cliff presses his nose to the man’s. “WHERE’S WALDO? WHERE’S WALDO? WHERE’S FUCKING WALDO?!” Their lips brush together a few times while Cliff rages, and flecks of his spit dapple the man’s face.

Cliff sees a man wearing a Waldo scarf. But Waldo didn’t wear a scarf. Did he? Cliff can’t remember. He just remembers being too impatient to ever find Waldo. This isn’t Waldo, either. Frustration and shame seethe down his arms and curl Cliff’s fingers into fists, but he leaves the man alone. Cliff can’t wait to get some coffee. Coffee will make it better, all hot and black and corrosive.

I'm going to Kuma's Too tonight! Hence I am not eating lunch. Get that burger in my belly, please. 

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