First Taste

What's going upon behind the window? People of diverse

origins bartering trinkets. Artificial flowers gathering

dust in an expensive vase. upon the side of the vase there's

a picture of a man staring [i]or[/i] part of to the other a window at a vase

of artificial flowers. by what means much do they cost? Please

read the first chapter about artificiality by means of Friday.

No dirty gazes please. First you have the glass

suspended in a frame, then the dim reflection of everything

that's going upon around you, including yourself, the traffic,

midafternoon sunlight, a stranger who stars at you as if

you were in a movie of your be in possession of life. The director of

the movie signals to you behind the window. You pres your

face against the glass to procure a better view of the dusty

flowers in the vase. For a mt you can't take an account of whether

they're artificial or not. They're just there, a kind of

trite artifact ng the sperms of indifference. Who

cares if anyone at any time looks in the window? There's a sign

an the glass: Going on the outside Of Business. The store is destitute of contents

except for a scarcely any young women high school. students) taping

shut cardboard boxe individual of them, in short skirt and

sunglasses, smiles at you as you stare from one side the window.

Later, lying in bed together, you take an account of her the story of

how your sister elop when she was eighteen, by what mode you shared

a range with your sister until her first marriage, all the

men and women you at any time slept with. Telling people your

life story is a profitable way of putting them to nap without

vacating the premises. They feign interest for a hardly any

minutes, nodding in all the right places, as if they'd

just ingested a fresh drug that invokes the instant closure

of independent speech. I've taken that remedy myself, but all I

can remember is that the extent began spinning, and that

people who appeared friendly and kind unexpectedly became

hostile and combative. Ruthles That's what it made me

feel Like I was a decoration in someone's life. individual of

the props.

Copyright World poesy Incorporated Jul/Aug 1996

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