hardly a beginning for a story

the pain in my abdomen is all too common for me to talk about it, specially. and i do have friends who might think of me as ‘sick’ for such ideas, stories, and questions. but it isn’t the pain that is bothering me now, or ever. all it needs is a large glass of beer and me to be alone, unfettered in my imagination. but life runs on how much work you get done in a day. at least for those of us who need constantly replenish our bank accounts to get by – day after day.

the idea of a loud share-auto, the crowded roads, the horns, the signals, the batter with random faces, all to get forty sheets of paper hurts – even more than my abdomen – perhaps because of my abdomen. so no work has actually been done. the kitchen stays. and every other assignment has halted.

a chunk of flesh feels like it is tearing itself apart – prancing about my torso. i have half an hour before my legs give in.

shutting this down. when my eyes tear off the fan and my back off the floor, i will leave. and if i leave, i will be back.

until then…

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