once there were 10 minutes of time to be spent before a man who on that day felt himself grow just a little older by increments, had to return to other affairs in the area of falsified wood working so that others would approve and all competition would be killed off. he wanted his competition zeroed so that his position as a falsifier would be secure and could therefore spend his time occupied with other things. otherwise, gas station jobs, industrial jobs, in a confined space such as that, were just waiting for him, waiting to devour him. some mornings he would wake up and look down at the edge of the bed, and there would be teeth marks. that’s just how anxious these other engagements were!
down on his watch was the 5 minute mark. when you cross lines, you cross them well knowing you’re crossing them. otherwise you are asleep, but are aware of things in your sleep just the same, or differently, but we shall say the same. the watch hands themselves were asking for popcorn when accompanied with the body into the front doors of the Kmart building. these dejected popcorn hands never could get enough butter, but nevertheless would glow in the dark beneath heavy storm clouds. there were no air filters to be found. razor blades were then purchased by the man who continued by obligation to glide them against the stubble on his face. this was on purpose, purposeful, yet automatic.
he turned to her and said, “Ms. Keibler, you have what they call ‘selective memory.’ ‘what do you think about that?” “I think nothing of it,” she quipped. “I think it is hogwash. Hush up now, before I send you to the school of Hogwarts.”
Everything became quiet.
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