Thursday, October 4, 2007

An awkward moment.

As you enter the kitchen, an acrid haze scrapes against your gentle senses. You notice a man slumped awkwardly in an unsteady chair beside an ordinary table. With his every labored breath, his seat wobbles, groans and threatens to discard his deathly weight. It has been quite some time since this man acquiesced to an extreme, drunken semi-coma, and he is not dreaming. A dying cigarette is crawling across the floor, burrowing a tiny, charred-carpet grave beside the right pedal of the somnolent.

A diminutive grey-and-white manx with nervous hands is resting on the table. Its lifeless, ochreous eyes survey the drunk's unshaven, sleep-melted face as its impatient fingers tap, knock and scratch a frustratingly incoherent rhythm on the vinyl table-cloth. Every five measures (ha!) it pauses to fail to clean the mold from its back. The cat attempts several distinct mewling sounds before iterating for the two-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighty-eighth time in the voice of colliding automobiles.

"Do you recall the supper dish you placed in a hot pan on the stove-top for the love of god seven hours ago?"

A chair leg splinters and snaps; the man topples onto the smoldering tobaccorpse, snorts noisily, moans painfully upon the reception of a significantly minuscule burn and mutters the name of a god he has never met, to which the pig stutteringly replies, "It is has since become scorched."

You reckon it is time for you to retire.

(Written 4/17/05; edited 10/4/07.)

1 comment:

the deviant tart said...

tobaccorpse is my favorite word now. also, i am not coughing shit up as frequently, so if we are going to bottle my mayolungaisse, we better get on it soon!