gently raising a pen from its holder
he brought his candlelight a little bit closer to the page of papyrus
he could not explain what he was doing with a feather quill pen and papyrus, sitting in the bus station at 9 in the morning.
No last night was not one of those kinds of hummdingers
he was just there
as if awoked from his sleep by some strange passer by
and he happened to be in a bus station at 9 am with a quill pen and page of papyrus
"weird" he shivers
looks around, puts his head down
then his ink
what did that mean...I suppose I am awake...but that's old news...even in the literal world of meaning things...
yet he didn't know what else to say...in fact he didn't even know he said that...it just sort of came out.
you see when one finds a quill pen and page of papyrus and can't alltogether explain why they are possesing them...
well you know what you would do
annnnd back to our hero
yes, I can agree with that much...hmmm..
looks around again
reaches for a cigarette
fights with himself really
he's cutting back
writing...spilt ink blood..
he stutters his pen for a second and then it comes gushing like eew the romans and Ooolala the homelands all rolled into one of those take home cookie dough tubes...euack!, not quack. if you need a sound for it all.
"he never had a chance in hell until he found the great heron had a bell on her colar. when it did ring something in his mind was comepletely resurfaced and all the brazen hazeyness he'd dealt with was slowly, well instantly relieved...sad strain on his eyes made melt any hope at rejoice, but there was a sigh of general reliefe that perhaps a better day would ever be possible."