Monday, October 20, 2008

There is a series of small mounds. As he walks across and over them, he cannot help but frown. He hears something that sounds like a bug in the distance. He hates bugs, and thus hears them everywhere. For lunch he will have a leg of chicken. He does not yet know how he is going to attain such a thing. My my my, he thinks to himself. Then he pats the top of his head. He does this in order to check for hair. He is certain one day he will pat the top of his head and nothing will be there. For supper he will have another leg of chicken. He has not forgotten anything that the old woman said to him. But there are times when he does not keep what she said to him in mind. This, to some, amounts to the same thing as forgetting. Mindful always of others, the man wears shoes publicly. He also speaks in high, cheerful tones. Before bed he dips his face into a small bowl of olive oil. This, he says, is for good measure. And then he goes to sleep.

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