Friday

Le grand désordre

As the train lazily pulled out of the station, the protagonist (young Jacob for sake of clarity) stole his last glance at the myriad of blackened, crumbling town houses and graffiti-soaked railway properties. The view became an infinite loop of human salad – a huge demented battery farm. He tapped away at his laptop for a moment but his thoughts were interrupted by a rasping noise that escaped from the man sat opposite. The clitter clatter of the train’s progress caused the sleeping man’s limp head to jerk sporadically, painting a greasy '8' on the window with his dirty hair. Jacob’s initial feeling of amusement was replaced by one of revulsion as the man’s flabby jowls vibrated again and again, producing saliva that was starting to collect as a white froth in the corner of his mouth. Averting his gaze, Jacob’s attentions landed on a small slip of paper on the table in front of the fat man. It was upside down and the writing was very small.

He was too distracted with wandering puerile thoughts to digest its contents. Besides, his nicotine receptors had other plans for their host. He made his way to the smoking car to smoke – and render himself inebriate on warm cans of Stella. It was apparent, at this point, that the generic fat man was becoming increasingly slipshod in his work and had missed a perfectly good opportunity. His superiors would be pissed also.

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2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

When can I expect some guns to feature in this novella?

1:20 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Patients my child. Lots of patients with gunshot wounds. See you in the story Arlow.

3:03 pm  

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