Disoriented Old
Untold weeks later, our reluctant hero awakes schooled, showered, shaven, and inexplicably 28. He glances about, warily, wearily, slowly absorbing the chaos of the vibrant apartment; invading his vision a stack of cards, a borrowed guitar, a pile of unalphabetized CD cases, an empty rucksack, each more jarring than the last for all that each belongs very much in the place it sits. Unwashed clothes, unopened mail, unwanted papers and packages: the uns mix with the ofts in a knot that might seem tangled to someone else.
But someone else isn't there and the bored hero slips back into sleep. Obligation will wake him in the morning, and the tangle will unravel systematically, according to his needs. As it always does.
But someone else isn't there and the bored hero slips back into sleep. Obligation will wake him in the morning, and the tangle will unravel systematically, according to his needs. As it always does.