16 January, 2010
I wish I could write
I wish I could write for then I'd write my thoughts, I would write about my travels and experiences. I would write about the sailor trapped on the ship with the blue spotted crocodile or perhaps about the talking frog who croaks his wise words to all those who pass. I wish I could write so that I'd run out of paper and ink, I'd let the ostrich fly and your dog talk. I wish I could write so I could make people smile or laugh or cry. I wish I could write so I could have an adventure, with pirates and a talking parrot. I'd let the innocent prisoner free and I'd make sure the father would find his lost son. I wish I could write so that I could describe seasons, people, cities and my feelings. I wish I could write so I could organise my thoughts. I wish I could write so that I could really explain to you how much I'd like to be able to write.
I wish I could write so that I could give you an account of the couple sitting opposite me. He's stroking her hair and she's whispering sweet nothings into his ear. I wish I could write so I could describe their love to you. I wish I could write to set a scene or to make you think. I wish I could write to give my stance on things. I wish I could write so I could show my appreciation to music, art and creativity. I wish I could write so that my creative flow could finally flow and be free. I wish I could write so I could make up a secret language.
I wish I could write so that I could write about the old man who lost his wife, and about the kid who rode his bike. I wish I could write so I could tell you about the cat that sits in the alley near your house, and about the mouse in your floorboards. I wish I could write so I could write about the sky and the sea, the snow and the sun. I wish I could write so I could write about the elephants in South East Asia, the monkeys in Brazil and the dolphins in Hawaii. I wish I could write so I could tell you all about Berlin. I wish I could write about the lakes in Austria and about the architecture in Vienna. I wish I could write so that I could write about the orange that was yellow and the banana that was orange. I wish I could write so that I could make up a story about the gherkin with the mustache and the strawberry with the umbrella.
I wish I could write to tell you how much I like raspberries and how much I enjoy riding my bike through Berlin. I wish I could write so that I'd write about the music I listen to and the books I read. I wish I could write so I could tell you about things you may like about me. I wish I could write so I could be truthful and tell you about my annoying habits too. I wish I could write so I could tell you about how much I like taking photos. I wish I could write so I could set a scene and explain why I took the photo. I wish I could write so that I'd have more to read.
I wish I could write so that I could give you an account of the couple sitting opposite me. He's stroking her hair and she's whispering sweet nothings into his ear. I wish I could write so I could describe their love to you. I wish I could write to set a scene or to make you think. I wish I could write to give my stance on things. I wish I could write so I could show my appreciation to music, art and creativity. I wish I could write so that my creative flow could finally flow and be free. I wish I could write so I could make up a secret language.
I wish I could write so that I could write about the old man who lost his wife, and about the kid who rode his bike. I wish I could write so I could tell you about the cat that sits in the alley near your house, and about the mouse in your floorboards. I wish I could write so I could write about the sky and the sea, the snow and the sun. I wish I could write so I could write about the elephants in South East Asia, the monkeys in Brazil and the dolphins in Hawaii. I wish I could write so I could tell you all about Berlin. I wish I could write about the lakes in Austria and about the architecture in Vienna. I wish I could write so that I could write about the orange that was yellow and the banana that was orange. I wish I could write so that I could make up a story about the gherkin with the mustache and the strawberry with the umbrella.
I wish I could write to tell you how much I like raspberries and how much I enjoy riding my bike through Berlin. I wish I could write so that I'd write about the music I listen to and the books I read. I wish I could write so I could tell you about things you may like about me. I wish I could write so I could be truthful and tell you about my annoying habits too. I wish I could write so I could tell you about how much I like taking photos. I wish I could write so I could set a scene and explain why I took the photo. I wish I could write so that I'd have more to read.
Bombay Biycle Club Review Berlin
First, somewhat feeble attempt at reviewing a gig.
When every song could be a single how could they do wrong? They're tight, professional, entertaining and the leader singer looks a little like a young Thom Yorke. Thumbs up.
The singer has this cute little smile which he constantly tries to hide. When a singer, or any band member for that matter, smiles but tries to hide it that's when I know they've got raw passion and talent. The singer continually tries to hide his smile, and beside from it being really cute, you know that he's having a great time and so are you.
He's happy to be up there, happy that he's turned his passion into his career, yet as he's embarrassed he thinks 'I mustn't smile'. However, he doesn't pull it off. Jack Steadman is the ultimate victim of smiles on stage. Good on ya mate. None of this sultry, keep cool bullshit.
Luckily for him, smile or no smile he'll always be talented.
When every song could be a single how could they do wrong? They're tight, professional, entertaining and the leader singer looks a little like a young Thom Yorke. Thumbs up.
The singer has this cute little smile which he constantly tries to hide. When a singer, or any band member for that matter, smiles but tries to hide it that's when I know they've got raw passion and talent. The singer continually tries to hide his smile, and beside from it being really cute, you know that he's having a great time and so are you.
He's happy to be up there, happy that he's turned his passion into his career, yet as he's embarrassed he thinks 'I mustn't smile'. However, he doesn't pull it off. Jack Steadman is the ultimate victim of smiles on stage. Good on ya mate. None of this sultry, keep cool bullshit.
Luckily for him, smile or no smile he'll always be talented.
09 December, 2009
Rewrite of the ending of James Joyce’s ‘An Encounter’ with a Comparative Analysis
Rewrite
‘…that I should understand him.’
*****
The old man turns back around and glances at the boys; the little ones. The taller one is pulling at his grey suit trousers; the shorter one tugging at his shirt and hair. They convey looks of loss and sadness. They look dishevelled. The old man hears their whisperings: ‘He played too fiercely for us.’ ‘It’s not fair. We are younger and more timid.’ The old man picks up his walking stick, adjusts his jerry hat, clears his throat and slowly walks on.
The old man makes his way slowly back to his flat in the city. It takes the old man on his walking stick a long time and when he is home the clock strikes 6 o’clock. He removes his coat, places it on a hanger and into the hallway cupboard. He walks slowly down the hallway; on the walls: framed pictures, an old whip and a framed certificate awarded to Murray O’Callaghan, Headmaster at Hillcrest School for Boys, 1903-1913. He unlaces his shoes and slips into his slippers. He slowly lowers himself on his settee and looks outside. The sun is subdued. The street outside is quiet; too quiet. His eye catches sight of two birds in a puddle. They flap and flutter in the water. A waiter in a nearby café drops a glass and the innocent birds flee. The old man lights a candle and with a shaking hand pours himself a glass of whiskey. His cat rubs itself against the old man’s leg and purrs. The old man lifts it onto his lap and strokes its tortoise shell coat. He switches on the television and tunes into the evening news. What an enjoyable day in the countryside, perhaps tomorrow I shall spend it in the city he thinks to himself and takes a sip of his drink.
Comparative Analysis
James Joyce’s Dubliners is an acute and explicit depiction of Dublin life in 1914 and ‘An Encounter’ is no exception. Joyce is renowned for his scrupulous writing style and in ‘An Encounter’ he brilliantly captures the boy’s narrative and naivety. The brevity of the story is impressive and I eagerly desired to repeat this. In addition, the lack of symbiotic relationships in his stories is key to Joyce’s philosophy and my new ending. Understanding the purpose of Joyce’s story-telling is pivotal: ‘My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to be the centre of paralysis. I have tried to present it to the indifferent public under its four aspects: childhood, adolescence, maturity, and public life…’ I was keen to continue this depiction in my ending by illustrating the pervert acting calmly at home to cleanse himself of the indecency he has committed. Ultimately, much like the other characters in Dubliners, the boys are paralysed in their violation; the old man is paralysed in his way of life. Crucially, my ending increases the ambiguity of the story’s morality and introduces a modern stance and a new narrative, thereby effecting how it is interpreted.
The last sentence at the cut off point from Joyce’s story: ‘…seemed to plead with me that I should understand him.’ allowed a brilliant route to my own ending. The words ‘that I should understand him’ are crucial, as the old man does indeed allow the boys to understand what he has in store for them. The old man shows them how to understand - and understand they do - as his act of indecency forces the boys into his own adult world of corruption. In this story the moral is blurred, as is the distinction between childhood and adulthood. The old man wishes to be a boy and the boys are ultimately treated as adults. In addition, I purposefully kept the old man’s monologue about whipping boys, as this would be pivotal to the meaning of both my ending and the story as a whole. Pivotal in the sense that it allows a further insight into the disturbing account of the man but also pivotal in the sense that it enabled a further aspect of him for me to build my ending around.
A crucial objective of mine was to focus on the old man’s perspective and to depict him in a light that Joyce was unable to do, since his narrative voice is that of the boy. In my ending, I make a point of including an insight into his background by illustrating him as a former Headmaster at an all boy’s school. This dramatically changes the meaning of the story. His position as a former Headmaster is shocking, leading us to wonder how he conducted himself as Headmaster, and ultimately, why he was released. Furthermore, the whipping could have been a punitive method which he performed at school. It can also be seen as a euphemism for the sexual crimes that he commits. It is most possible that his morality thrives on the idea that ‘bad boys’ must be whipped, or more directly, sexually assaulted. As Torchiana notes ‘he returns to speak again, this time of punishing and whipping boys, most severely boys with girlfriends.’ This is most likely because he wants the boys for himself.
If the boys were, indeed, responsible for his release, it acts as a depiction of a vicious cycle of threats, blame and corruption. This idea is, however, left purposely ambiguous.
Crucially, the most apparent change in my ending is the change of narrative. Whilst Joyce decided to write his story in the first person narrative of the boy, I opted for giving the old man a voice. Granted, my ending is written in the third person narrative, but due to this shift to an objective narrative, the focus is on the man, allowing the reader to gain his ‘side of the story’; that is to say to gain a view of his personal life, thus leading the reader to make their own verdict about him. Writing in the present tense also allows for a closer depiction and makes the events more immediate and intimate. My ending almost reads as stage directions which proves to be hugely effective and allows for exactly such a scrupulous writing style which I had hoped to imitate.
Due to my attempt at a succinct writing style, the tone of my ending is sinister, dramatic and haunting; yet the pace is slow, made slower by the old man’s sloth. My laconic writing style captures the very essence of the man’s systematic and mundane routine which he performs in his evenings at home. The use of repetition acts as a clear cut imitation of Joyce as his stories display an abundance of repetition, as Mosher notes his ideas are ‘…often established with the aid of repetition’. I constantly, and indeed only, refer to the man as ‘the old man’ and this use of repetition adds to the man’s pathetic state of being and masturbatory way of life. The statements made by the two boys in my story are a direct imitation of Joyce and superbly depict the boy’s mood, emphasising his penitence and realisation of wrong doing in Joyce’s original, ultimately making the story all the more tragic and sad. The image of the ‘innocent birds’ is of course a euphemism for the young innocent boys. In turn, the waiter is a euphemism for the old man as both the birds and the boys are affected by them: the former flee; the latter are left violated.
Another apparent difference between my ending and Joyce’s story is the context in which they were written. Joyce wrote in 1914, a time with an abundance of literary restrictions: I write in 2009, a time of liberalism and free speech. Not only that, but a time where literature is inclined to be dramatic and page turning. Much like Joyce at the point when the man moves away to masturbate; the rape in my ending is merely hinted at and left to the reader’s interpretation. However, it is more explicit than Joyce’s in order to cater for modern readers, who, as previously stated, thrive on drama.
Sylvan Barnet notes that ‘most frequently a short-story writer of the nineteenth century focuses on a single character in a single episode, rather than tracing his development, reveals him at a particular moment.’ In addition, Poe asserted that the chief formal property of ‘the short prose tale’ was ‘unity of impression’ which ultimately, and only, includes a single incident, a single setting and a short period of time. In terms of my ending, I do fulfil these requirements as I stay true to the plot, referring back to Joyce’s story; the central scene is set, above all, in his living room; it is told by an objective narrative voice; it depicts a mere few hours of his personal life; depicts no relationships with others: his cat is the only measure which provides a relationship and even that is abrupt and cut short. Due to its minimalism, it obeys the criteria of a short story ending; it just provides a different stance and a modern twist.
Moreover, the story of the old man could have continued; hypothetically, a novel could reveal whether the old man commits other acts of indecency, whether he feels remorse and, indeed, what the actual cause and trigger of his indecent behaviour is. Has the old man previously committed a multiplicity of errors in his life time? Will it cease or will he continue to act indecently? However, due to the brevity and lack of detail both Joyce’s stories and my ending have the potential to be a novel, but a decision against it is made: as this is the point. A short story does not give way to a novel; as Ian Reid notes, ‘the short story shares no clear and common boundary line with the novel.’ In this particular case, it provides a limited window into the world of the old man and ultimately the corrupt state of Dublin.
Ambiguity is key. ‘What exactly did the boy in ‘An Encounter’ see? We do not know, but Joyce also seems to indicate that we need not know the precise answers or even ask such questions, because in literature characters, events, and motivations are fluid and finally unfathomable just as they are in life.’ Most importantly, however, and a trait of a successful story, is that it leaves reader wanting more. Moreover, as Ian Reid notes, a ‘surprising turn at the end reveals more than just a hidden fact, a sad irony; it brings to the surface the real significance of the foregoing action.’ In terms of my ending versus Joyce’s: both end with a thought that perturbs the reader. Joyce’s closes in on the boy’s naivety and penitence; mine ends with the old man’s disturbing aspiration. Ultimately, the endings linger and are left open-ended. 1,546
Bibliography
Primary Source Joyce, James, Dubliners (Penguin Classics, London, 2000)
Secondary Sources Bollettieri, Rosa and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing: New Readings Of Dubliners (Kentucky 1998)
Reid, Ian, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story (Muthen & Co Ltd: London 1977)
Trochiana, Donald T, Backgrounds for Joyce’s Dubliners (Allen and Unwin 1986)
James Joyce, Dubliners (Penguin Classics, London, 2000) (subsequent references to this edition) Ibid., p. 11 James Joyce, Letters 11, 134, quoted in Dubliners, Introduction p.xxxi Joyce, Dubliners p.21 Donald T, Trochiana, Backgrounds for Joyce’s Dubliners, (Allen and Unwin 1986) p.44 Rosa Bollettieri, and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing Joyce p.60 Sylvan Barnet referenced in Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story, Muthen & Co Ltd: London 1977 p.56 Edgar Allen Poe referenced in Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.54 Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.43 Rosa Bollettieri, and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing Joyce p.99 Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.61
‘…that I should understand him.’
*****
The old man turns back around and glances at the boys; the little ones. The taller one is pulling at his grey suit trousers; the shorter one tugging at his shirt and hair. They convey looks of loss and sadness. They look dishevelled. The old man hears their whisperings: ‘He played too fiercely for us.’ ‘It’s not fair. We are younger and more timid.’ The old man picks up his walking stick, adjusts his jerry hat, clears his throat and slowly walks on.
The old man makes his way slowly back to his flat in the city. It takes the old man on his walking stick a long time and when he is home the clock strikes 6 o’clock. He removes his coat, places it on a hanger and into the hallway cupboard. He walks slowly down the hallway; on the walls: framed pictures, an old whip and a framed certificate awarded to Murray O’Callaghan, Headmaster at Hillcrest School for Boys, 1903-1913. He unlaces his shoes and slips into his slippers. He slowly lowers himself on his settee and looks outside. The sun is subdued. The street outside is quiet; too quiet. His eye catches sight of two birds in a puddle. They flap and flutter in the water. A waiter in a nearby café drops a glass and the innocent birds flee. The old man lights a candle and with a shaking hand pours himself a glass of whiskey. His cat rubs itself against the old man’s leg and purrs. The old man lifts it onto his lap and strokes its tortoise shell coat. He switches on the television and tunes into the evening news. What an enjoyable day in the countryside, perhaps tomorrow I shall spend it in the city he thinks to himself and takes a sip of his drink.
Comparative Analysis
James Joyce’s Dubliners is an acute and explicit depiction of Dublin life in 1914 and ‘An Encounter’ is no exception. Joyce is renowned for his scrupulous writing style and in ‘An Encounter’ he brilliantly captures the boy’s narrative and naivety. The brevity of the story is impressive and I eagerly desired to repeat this. In addition, the lack of symbiotic relationships in his stories is key to Joyce’s philosophy and my new ending. Understanding the purpose of Joyce’s story-telling is pivotal: ‘My intention was to write a chapter of the moral history of my country and I chose Dublin for the scene because that city seemed to be the centre of paralysis. I have tried to present it to the indifferent public under its four aspects: childhood, adolescence, maturity, and public life…’ I was keen to continue this depiction in my ending by illustrating the pervert acting calmly at home to cleanse himself of the indecency he has committed. Ultimately, much like the other characters in Dubliners, the boys are paralysed in their violation; the old man is paralysed in his way of life. Crucially, my ending increases the ambiguity of the story’s morality and introduces a modern stance and a new narrative, thereby effecting how it is interpreted.
The last sentence at the cut off point from Joyce’s story: ‘…seemed to plead with me that I should understand him.’ allowed a brilliant route to my own ending. The words ‘that I should understand him’ are crucial, as the old man does indeed allow the boys to understand what he has in store for them. The old man shows them how to understand - and understand they do - as his act of indecency forces the boys into his own adult world of corruption. In this story the moral is blurred, as is the distinction between childhood and adulthood. The old man wishes to be a boy and the boys are ultimately treated as adults. In addition, I purposefully kept the old man’s monologue about whipping boys, as this would be pivotal to the meaning of both my ending and the story as a whole. Pivotal in the sense that it allows a further insight into the disturbing account of the man but also pivotal in the sense that it enabled a further aspect of him for me to build my ending around.
A crucial objective of mine was to focus on the old man’s perspective and to depict him in a light that Joyce was unable to do, since his narrative voice is that of the boy. In my ending, I make a point of including an insight into his background by illustrating him as a former Headmaster at an all boy’s school. This dramatically changes the meaning of the story. His position as a former Headmaster is shocking, leading us to wonder how he conducted himself as Headmaster, and ultimately, why he was released. Furthermore, the whipping could have been a punitive method which he performed at school. It can also be seen as a euphemism for the sexual crimes that he commits. It is most possible that his morality thrives on the idea that ‘bad boys’ must be whipped, or more directly, sexually assaulted. As Torchiana notes ‘he returns to speak again, this time of punishing and whipping boys, most severely boys with girlfriends.’ This is most likely because he wants the boys for himself.
If the boys were, indeed, responsible for his release, it acts as a depiction of a vicious cycle of threats, blame and corruption. This idea is, however, left purposely ambiguous.
Crucially, the most apparent change in my ending is the change of narrative. Whilst Joyce decided to write his story in the first person narrative of the boy, I opted for giving the old man a voice. Granted, my ending is written in the third person narrative, but due to this shift to an objective narrative, the focus is on the man, allowing the reader to gain his ‘side of the story’; that is to say to gain a view of his personal life, thus leading the reader to make their own verdict about him. Writing in the present tense also allows for a closer depiction and makes the events more immediate and intimate. My ending almost reads as stage directions which proves to be hugely effective and allows for exactly such a scrupulous writing style which I had hoped to imitate.
Due to my attempt at a succinct writing style, the tone of my ending is sinister, dramatic and haunting; yet the pace is slow, made slower by the old man’s sloth. My laconic writing style captures the very essence of the man’s systematic and mundane routine which he performs in his evenings at home. The use of repetition acts as a clear cut imitation of Joyce as his stories display an abundance of repetition, as Mosher notes his ideas are ‘…often established with the aid of repetition’. I constantly, and indeed only, refer to the man as ‘the old man’ and this use of repetition adds to the man’s pathetic state of being and masturbatory way of life. The statements made by the two boys in my story are a direct imitation of Joyce and superbly depict the boy’s mood, emphasising his penitence and realisation of wrong doing in Joyce’s original, ultimately making the story all the more tragic and sad. The image of the ‘innocent birds’ is of course a euphemism for the young innocent boys. In turn, the waiter is a euphemism for the old man as both the birds and the boys are affected by them: the former flee; the latter are left violated.
Another apparent difference between my ending and Joyce’s story is the context in which they were written. Joyce wrote in 1914, a time with an abundance of literary restrictions: I write in 2009, a time of liberalism and free speech. Not only that, but a time where literature is inclined to be dramatic and page turning. Much like Joyce at the point when the man moves away to masturbate; the rape in my ending is merely hinted at and left to the reader’s interpretation. However, it is more explicit than Joyce’s in order to cater for modern readers, who, as previously stated, thrive on drama.
Sylvan Barnet notes that ‘most frequently a short-story writer of the nineteenth century focuses on a single character in a single episode, rather than tracing his development, reveals him at a particular moment.’ In addition, Poe asserted that the chief formal property of ‘the short prose tale’ was ‘unity of impression’ which ultimately, and only, includes a single incident, a single setting and a short period of time. In terms of my ending, I do fulfil these requirements as I stay true to the plot, referring back to Joyce’s story; the central scene is set, above all, in his living room; it is told by an objective narrative voice; it depicts a mere few hours of his personal life; depicts no relationships with others: his cat is the only measure which provides a relationship and even that is abrupt and cut short. Due to its minimalism, it obeys the criteria of a short story ending; it just provides a different stance and a modern twist.
Moreover, the story of the old man could have continued; hypothetically, a novel could reveal whether the old man commits other acts of indecency, whether he feels remorse and, indeed, what the actual cause and trigger of his indecent behaviour is. Has the old man previously committed a multiplicity of errors in his life time? Will it cease or will he continue to act indecently? However, due to the brevity and lack of detail both Joyce’s stories and my ending have the potential to be a novel, but a decision against it is made: as this is the point. A short story does not give way to a novel; as Ian Reid notes, ‘the short story shares no clear and common boundary line with the novel.’ In this particular case, it provides a limited window into the world of the old man and ultimately the corrupt state of Dublin.
Ambiguity is key. ‘What exactly did the boy in ‘An Encounter’ see? We do not know, but Joyce also seems to indicate that we need not know the precise answers or even ask such questions, because in literature characters, events, and motivations are fluid and finally unfathomable just as they are in life.’ Most importantly, however, and a trait of a successful story, is that it leaves reader wanting more. Moreover, as Ian Reid notes, a ‘surprising turn at the end reveals more than just a hidden fact, a sad irony; it brings to the surface the real significance of the foregoing action.’ In terms of my ending versus Joyce’s: both end with a thought that perturbs the reader. Joyce’s closes in on the boy’s naivety and penitence; mine ends with the old man’s disturbing aspiration. Ultimately, the endings linger and are left open-ended. 1,546
Bibliography
Primary Source Joyce, James, Dubliners (Penguin Classics, London, 2000)
Secondary Sources Bollettieri, Rosa and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing: New Readings Of Dubliners (Kentucky 1998)
Reid, Ian, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story (Muthen & Co Ltd: London 1977)
Trochiana, Donald T, Backgrounds for Joyce’s Dubliners (Allen and Unwin 1986)
James Joyce, Dubliners (Penguin Classics, London, 2000) (subsequent references to this edition) Ibid., p. 11 James Joyce, Letters 11, 134, quoted in Dubliners, Introduction p.xxxi Joyce, Dubliners p.21 Donald T, Trochiana, Backgrounds for Joyce’s Dubliners, (Allen and Unwin 1986) p.44 Rosa Bollettieri, and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing Joyce p.60 Sylvan Barnet referenced in Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story, Muthen & Co Ltd: London 1977 p.56 Edgar Allen Poe referenced in Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.54 Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.43 Rosa Bollettieri, and Harold Mosher (eds), Rejoycing Joyce p.99 Ian Reid, The Critical Idiom: The Short Story p.61
21 November, 2009
People watching
I love to people watch. It's probably amongst my top 5 favourite things to do. Just to watch people passing, living their lives. Making up stories in my head about where they're going, what they do, what kind of person they are. It's my favourite type of story writing and hence this blog will present just that. Snapshots of people's lives.
The woman on the ubahn
I'm sitting on the Ubahn taking Conor to the airport and a woman gets in holding something wrapped. She sits opposite me and puts the package on the seat next to her. The wrapping says 'Eis Bessler' (Ice Cream, Bessler.) I am immediately intrigued. Why has she brought ice cream with her on the ubahn? It's kinda normal in Germany to wrap ice cream up like that so peoople can take it home. But on the ubahn?
Won't it melt? It's fairly hot in here. How long is she traveling for? Logistics aside, her life starts to intrigue me. Who is the ice cream for? Why has she made such an effort to take it home? Is it really, really delicious? Is the ice cream just for her? Is it so good she occasionally indulges so much she orders two portions? Or is it for her and her boyfriend? Will they enjoy it while watching a film? Or perhaps it's for her children. She's only got two portions. What a selfless, caring mother. I see her carefully touch the ice cream to see if it has melted.
With a phone call all my questions are answered. Her boyfriend, I assume that's who's on the other end, calls and she asks him to pick him up from the ubahn. Not just yet though honey, she says, I've got 10 more stops. Ten more! Surely the ice cream would have melted by then?
She tells him she wants to be picked up because it's raining out, and besides, the ice cream will melt.
Won't it melt? It's fairly hot in here. How long is she traveling for? Logistics aside, her life starts to intrigue me. Who is the ice cream for? Why has she made such an effort to take it home? Is it really, really delicious? Is the ice cream just for her? Is it so good she occasionally indulges so much she orders two portions? Or is it for her and her boyfriend? Will they enjoy it while watching a film? Or perhaps it's for her children. She's only got two portions. What a selfless, caring mother. I see her carefully touch the ice cream to see if it has melted.
With a phone call all my questions are answered. Her boyfriend, I assume that's who's on the other end, calls and she asks him to pick him up from the ubahn. Not just yet though honey, she says, I've got 10 more stops. Ten more! Surely the ice cream would have melted by then?
She tells him she wants to be picked up because it's raining out, and besides, the ice cream will melt.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
