Their slumberous faces were those of depleted souls relishing the respite from the toil of everyday living. None of them had moved for hours, not even unconsciously into a more comfortable position. Their utter stillness and worn-out covers reflected a stark, almost sickly need for night to extend beyond the arbitrary border of day. Their motionless figures in the hollow silence of the basement begged darkness to continue, the snow to keep on dusting the bowels of the city, and the stars to go on shining for the weary of spirit.
The dad aimed the car toward the end of the parking lot and the tall snowbanks built up over the winter by the snowplows. He drove to a V-shaped opening between two snowbanks and stopped, facing the gap. He put the car into park, leaving the engine running. Just to be sure, he looked at the shifter and said, “You are in park.” A smile formed on his lips. He jabbed one finger into the centre of his chest. “And you,” he said, “are intoxicated.”
To his surprise, the room was empty. He examined it: paper shredder full of documents sealing the company’s fate; furniture transformed into coasters for half sipped bourbons; cigar butts botched on the carpet like little islands surrounded by ash waves; smoking chair cushions gutted and turned on their sides, and the window opened wide inviting the harsh January draft.
Of course we were in the basement of Southwest Community Baptist, again. I guess that’s what happens when you fall asleep at the wheel for the fifth time. Or maybe [More…]
I climbed the stairs and placed the green bin on the landing. I unlocked the door and leaned down to pick up the bin. There were a few papers in it, probably thrown in by passers-by after the recycling had already been picked up. Flyers, an electricity bill. One sheet caught my eye. It had been crumpled up, but I could still make out the handwriting.
The light in the ship’s dining room was low, and I suppose the empty bottle of red wine also had something to do with it. But when I looked into [More…]