Beanbags the beanbags have been taken away maybe one or two were leaking beans at the most didn't amount to too many beans they fell off the wagon the station wagon behind the station where gas was pumped into the already foul air by a rather large man wearing a long vermilion trenchcoat given to him by his rather vengeful father who abhorred his girth although the rather large issue of the father was rather dead set on convincing himself that his rather fuckheaded father was envious of his nob although this could not be contradicted by everyone who avoided him or maintained rather great distance from him. The rather large man was waiting a rather long time for the next train at the rather rundown station where the waiting room reeked of urine and wet magazines with dampened perfume samples.
The rather large man stood outside the waiting room turning his head to see the overgrown train tracks and then turning his head back to examine the broken window of the waiting room. He noticed the fractured pieces jutting up from inside the bottom of the sill had collected a mound of dead flies. A rank breeze would rock the shards and the dead flies would be blown about to flick against the shards like a stubborn build up of morbid plaque. The rather large man continued to stand outside the waiting room occupying himself with turning his head in a pattern he did not care to maintain a consistently timed manner between the train tracks and the broken window of the waiting room. He kept this up for many turnings of his head tending to linger on the dead flies contemplating the lack of variation in the intensity of the wind as well as feeling rather confident that he could expel the balance of gas from his vehemently digested lunch before the arrival of the train.
It was rather frustrating when the turning of the head from overgrown train tracks to dead flies passed by a building with an enormous hole in the roof that divided the pendulum swinging over the dark lake beneath the storm abbreviating their last meeting. Rather frustrating when images punctuated with gaping holes and dark lakes lancinating the growth of something so that as it leaked odd shaped beans not amounting to too much spilled in the form of either something that happened or happened only in a dream a dream of someone some other that would escape sharing all the waiting all the turning all the different turning and changing of direction all the words the other would never hear by the dark lake beneath the storm abbreviating their last meeting the last meeting with the other. Both could and probably do claim to be the other and the other claims to be the other. And this is the next sentence and its claims are dehydrated by exhaustion and narrowed and thinned by claims and eyes that hover over to see if they try to accelerate around the corner mountain of mattresses with identically scribbled notes on every individually discolored layer coughing upward coughing downward with a distant throat clearing the only clearing around the corner mountain of mattresses with identically scribbled notes on every individually discolored layer coughing upward coughing downward with a distant throat clearing the only clearing around.
- Max Stoltenberg
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