The kitchen was of a timid shade of blue. Stacked on top of old newspapers sat his hot plate. In his dreams he often saw those newspapers burn a whole through the floor, falling clumsily on his nosey neighbor’s head while she was baking. Headlines would read “Woman Killed by the News.” That’s probably sensational enough to make it. Obama winning the presidency, the coming recession, the burst of the housing bubble, Anna Nicole Smith, Rupert Murdoch’s acquisition of the Wall Street Journal and those good ol’ boys dead in Fallujah. Outside of the newspapers, which despite their perfectly placed stack gave an air of disaster, everything else was neat and organized. He had exactly what he needed. One of everything as far as cookware. One fork, one knife, one spoon, one bowl, one plate, one cooking pot etc. One of everything placed neatly and perfectly on tarnished metal racks. His kitchen had all the necessities for a single man with tendencies for hallucinations and a predilection for hoarding newspapers and hurting strangers.
8 Comments
Good, I needed this to happen.
If I want to send a birthday card to a particular bearded man whose face eerily resembles mine, where would it go? Sister loves!!
his beard is small now, you may not want to send a card anymore.
Maybe it was just my head that shrank.
can you DO html comments in here?
You’re always here, aren’t you.
Yes, I live in here. Its my permanent residence, I even get mail here.
Funny, I’ve never even seen you comment on my blog before today.
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