It’s Almost Bedtime

Its almost bedtime. He took a sharp metal tool to gouge out the sheetrock to write in big letters on the wall. This is not the sort of friend one invites in for a drink, which becomes excessive, for a laugh, which turns out not too funny. He shapes the letters. Fine white gypsum falls to the floor. His friend painted a picture which sits on a piano bench. It is covered in gypsum. In a fit, he sprays the wall with leftover slugs from his fists. Then he remembers the crossword puzzle from last week and the clue he missed. He stands in front of a poem, freshly engraved and spattered with knuckle blood, next to doodles and trite belongings. He undresses from his casual musty attire to get ready for a late dinner party. Its almost time for bed, he thinks. He cleans the powder snot from his nose and puts on a respectable shirt and slacks. He has five index cards in his pocket so that he remembers to talk about his trip, their kids, and to remember not to eat fatty pork and not to drink more than two alcohols. He even wrote a joke to tell.


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