OUT OF THE BLUE

July 4, 2017

The man, barefoot, wearing a threadbare formerly green coat and tattered formerly red pants, perched in silence on the edge of the lone chair in the barren room. His face was a frozen mask of indifference. Sunlight from the window slid in slow geometry across the floor to while away the hours. The man remained there, perched, motionless. He spoke only once after many hours and before many more hours until he perched dead on the edge of the lone chair in the barren room.

He said, ‘I think it’s good.’

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