Sitting on the couch, watching tv.
A man types on keyboard.
“I had a rough day”
He sits, pondering his existence.
“I don’t understand.”
His wife walks across the living room floor. Her curly hair,
shiny. Her shoulders obey the gentle commands of each step.
She scratches her head with a crochet hook. Her head turns
in his direction, her eyes follow, almost instantly.
“Did I gross you out?”
She did not, although in some ways, it was gross.
The television offered its usual comfort.
The characters delving deep into the cultural psyche, exploring
the idiosyncrasies of human nature while it softens the blow with the delicate
comfort of humor.
Then, when we are entirely at ease, like a stubbed toe on a
hard wooden coffee table leg, our unsuspecting heads are smashed into the petrified poplar
of harsh reality.
“This is for sale, you need it, buy it. We could work
to make your life better but we don’t care, so we got this job, to make money,
lots of it, and to keep you dumb, and desperate.”
The girl with the crochet hook and the animal lying on her
side, lifeless, farts (the dog, not the girl.)
Although, she is not above it.
Nor am I.
