 |
|
|
Gone are the Days When... By Nathaniel Letcher October 10, 2007 This stack of dirtied plates beside the sink has not moved in so long I can hardly estimate were it weeks, months, or more. And that splintered front door leans hard on its hinges, pulling toward the porch where I once stood and flailed against it, desperate to get past some morning ago when I was drunk and without my keys. Meanwhile, miscellany is scattered throughout the house: like discarded calendar pages wadded into balls, unwadded, wadded, balls unwadded and tacked to the wall again, marking the days that have accumulated like stacks of dirtied plates. I teeter upon floorboards, warped, scudded, stained, beneath a burned out light bulb; it's blackened crisp, still clasped by the ceiling socket. Six more unmounted lay heaped in a corner given to spiders, beside a fusty, splintered desk — abandoned apparatus, metaphor, or something... About the author: 24 years old, unemployed, part-time student, native of Iowa City. I don't plan on ever leaving my hometown, but I have no plans for what to do while I'm here. Mostly I lie around and read a lot of books, only occassionally getting up to cook myself some food. There is a girl who loves me, but she would settle for Garrison. Or maybe she has settled for me. . . but I don't think the two of them have ever met. Anyway, I kinda love her back, but that word is a difficult one to pronounce. It is raining here in Iowa City, life kinda seems like a timeout. | | | |
First Person Archive Most recent: 2008 June May April March February January 2007 December November October September August July June May April March February January 2006 December September | |
 |
|
|
