Himself in the Mirror
The whole profession is like a man who has for the first time caught a
glimpse of himself in the mirror before he leaves a room. Walks past
the car in the driveway, opting instead for foot traffic, and waves me
off when I call after him.
The profession has done this before, often signaling me to take another
route or wanting me to take a cab the opposite direction. More than
once I have seen it, after a long night of caffeine, hop the tracks and
board an outbound train, grinning against the glass with smoker's
I followed the profession out of the house and down the green-treed
shoelace of a street, where it led me to a mustard-stained office that
shared a parking lot with people buying drive-through food and
teenagers lining their cars parallel like old men at a diner.
The profession required me to break the lock, and once inside my hands
were red and my conscience grew pink.
Trent England has stories in or coming from Unsaid, Conjunctions, Fiction, Hobart and others.
To link to this story directly: http://wigleaf.com/200912himself.htm
Illustration on main page courtesy
of Max Estes.
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