..and drops it on the kitchen table.....
Walking to the door he opens it and stands silent as the wind chills his wet body, then turning and shutting the door in an exaggerated manner, he exclaims 'Not a fit night out for man nor beast!!' The dog looks at him wagging its tail. 'Just takes me longer' he says to the dog.
Moving to the fire, he throws on a few logs, slaps Schastocovich 13 into the CD, turns it full bore and walks to the bathroom slipping wet clothing from his chilled body. He takes an almost scalding shower, shaves a four day growth, and brushes his teeth. Donning a thick oversized robe and a pair of thermal booties he heads to kitchen reveling in the eternal sadness of the music. He brews up a large thick cup of coffee and heads back the chair near the fire. There he picks up his most recent book, the Republic of Love by shields. And slowly, between sips the coffee and pats to the adoring dog, he rips pages from the book, rolls them into loose balls, and flicks them into the fire. His mood lightens as the coffee fills his body and the fire blazes brightly. Leaning back in the chair he closes his eyes and lets the music carry him over that dark bleak time of such awful beauty.
Opening his eyes he knows peace. Brief peace, a temporary peace, a moment's respite from the sad counting and recounting of episodes in his life that often seem to play through his mind in an endless loop, a monotonous litany of failure and fear. Shaking his head slightly he clears the thought, pats the dog who now rests its head on his thigh, rips another page from the book and arches it into the fire.
........................................
...now we can all sleep tonight |
