January whip, he walked down a hurly street in the heart of his hometown, he walked fast. the wind cut so sharp across his red raw cheeks across his red rubbed eyes he could hardly see, he thought, 'by God, this January whip is no joke, and all for me'. his skin stung, he pushed faster still, one bootprint at a time. He was sick and he was sure, his body like an old sack of carrots or cables dragging itself along icy remnants of sidewalk plantlife. hands in sad pockets he thought about breathing; he finally approached the cemetery.
He'd woken that morning to the terrifying shade of his mother's body towering over him. her colourless night gown flapped in the wind in his head. Haggard hurly kind of- his mother was called Dolores. feeling the warmth of his breath she recoiled, her shadow bent in on itself, head enveloped by wrinkled breasts as she started to splutter in a distant way, ‘when I was around your age I often heard the blackbird’s song,,,quickly, now...’ he lay prostrate and salamander-eyed as Dolores consumed herself, convulsing. it took her about three minutes to dissolve. her shadow sunk into the floorboards like a sand dune gets blown over by amber wind, the peak gets blunter and flatter until its silhouette is reduced to a plain straight expanse of bone dry desert, only instead of the howl of a sandstorm he heard only her strangely craven coughs all the way. he sighed when she was gone. he wrote what she’d said down. then he got ready for work.
He usually liked his coffee with two sugars. Today he took it with none.
He worked as a window cleaner. he liked his job, he found it satisfying. it was easy work and the pay was adequate. last Friday he’d been assigned to a tall steely building with about a thousand windows that each demanded that certain scintillating sheen, he liked to call these the Mogul Compensators, though he didn’t think it out of malice, he just had a lot of free time and loneliness. he never got on too well with his mother. two years ago the doctors found a chloroma in her perineum and that was that, two weeks and a humid funeral. he didn’t think about her much. he liked his job, he found it satisfying. that day
,i will finish this soon.