I can't say it like I write it...I can't write it like I think it...I can't think it like I feel it...and I don't feel a thing.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Bonjour Banjo
It's March, after 8:00 PM, and the sun has not yet set. And so today, the cat has already claimed his summer post, next to the open balcony doors, watching pigeons fly from one building to another.
He heard the words drag out. He felt them pull out of his mouth like freight cars, jangling, backing up on each other, grating to a halt, sliding, clinching back, jarring, and then suddenly stopping as roughly as they had begun. It was over. --Flannery O'Connor, "The Barber"
1 comment:
Banjo is getting classier as he grows older. Or perhaps the couch is just a more elegant resting place compared to our old windowsill.
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