What use were the pink, feathered wings attached to the headless mannequin … flight? The broken escalator possessed better direction. Yes, i’m in the mall again, wondering what cake i am if the main ingredients are hate and frustration overwhelmed by a dollop of sadness.
I can’t be that smiling Toddler that’s holding Mommy’s hand. There is only now and a future that will become Now. There’s the Old Man battling to descend the stairs, one crutch at a time (or is that one victory at a time?). I certainly can’t be that Super Sexy Lass (and take a toilet break to masturbate).
But i could be the Whiner who sat at the table behind me, complaining to her Father about the medicals, the house and the job. Not even a lonely prettiness escaped her lips. Her greetings to her father she hardly saw was that self-consumed shrill that’s become the most common human infection. Maybe i could be Him, delivering obligatory bad advice and apathies to her antipathy.