Writing

From: Those Things That Were Not Said

The Mother had gotten quite strange. It didn’t matter that she forgot things so much as the problems it caused for others, especially the dog and the cat. The cat often complained to the dog that she had not gotten enough food. The dog never responded, just lay down on the floor to sleep. Sleep is the best thing to deal with matters of importance that cannot be solved. Or so the dog thought. Mother didn’t know if she agreed or disagreed. It didn’t matter because she forgot.

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The grocer stood up from his counter stool at the cash register at the end of the day after counting all of the money in the till and matching it with the numbers that the register told him. He put on his hat and his coat and walked home to the house where his wife and son waited for him to have dinner so they could have it together. He smelled of celery and apples.

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I am waiting for the snow and the quiet so that I can lie on the couch and read of Uncle Wiggly and The Wind in the Willows.  I liked it best when the automobile rose up on its hind wheels, I wanted that to happen in every one of the stories.

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There they were, in Iowa City. It is said that is the place where you can find your youth. They look for it in all the old bars where they went but the dust has been wiped off and the wood seats and benches and tables have been replaced. Someone else owns The Mill now. The owner from long ago cannot be found. You know, the one who raped your friend in the back room.

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