Himself in the Mirror
Trent England

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 delight.

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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