Billy was upset that no-one spoke to him.
“Hi Billy, how’s your mum?”
“She’s fine, fine, she’s fine.”
“And how about you? Are you behaving yourself?”
“Yes. I’m doing fine, I’m fine, fine, I’m fine.”
“Tell your mum I was asking for her.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll tell her, yes.”
Prod Herling believed he had been followed for weeks or months, never once seeing what he thought was there. But his history came with repeated sensations.
December 24. It began today. At the grocery store, I saw a man whose hands had disappeared seem to levitate a cantaloupe into his cart. Looked through a woman’s head in the bread aisle. Haven’t run out of SeeMe myself, so no invisibility infection yet. Going to write in my journal every day. Think it’ll help get me through this.
“I do not like Indiana. I do not like the weather or the politics or the terrain. Listen, Bubbles, when your Mom comes home we’re going to have a family council. All three of us and the only item on the agenda is, should we get the hell out of Indiana ASAP. Are you with me? Can I count on your vote? Alright! I knew you had my back.”
Jack Posner, licensed clinical psychologist, PhD. from Berkeley, serviced corporate lawyers and stock and bond traders from his private plant-filled smoke-free office on the fourth floor of the Paulsen Building downtown. He consoled guilty consciences with a phrase he muttered under his breath for his own benefit as well as his clientele’s: EVERYTHING’S O.K., GO BACK TO WORK, over and over, like a Vedic hymn, until even he was fooled by it.
Another week over and another one begins. Welcome to our round-up of Week 92.
As I sat down to write this I had no idea what I was going to say. I decided to have a look back at some of the Saturday Postings to see if I had an opening that I hadn’t explored. As I tried to get myself comfy I realised that there is more of me hurts than doesn’t. Between that and looking back to something, that not long ago, I would have remembered, made me think on getting older.
It all began perhaps eight or nine years earlier, in a peaceful sleep, when a thin, shoelace-like string of pressure went around his chest for the third time in a week. Sixty-two year old Max Cargo paid attention to that string. It was three o’clock in the morning and his wife Pamela stirred casually at his touch. In less than an hour they were in the Emergency Room of the local hospital.