Story of a Human
1990-09-15
Woody tried to shake the boy's hand, as it is considered polite to do so, but it was awkward.
The boy thrust his left hand out from behind him, upsidedown. Woody grabbed he boy's pinky and Woody tried to shake it with his dond left hand, but he couldn't get it at the right angle. He grabbed the little pinky in desperation and shook it resolutely.
"How ya doin'?" asked the kid, staring into Woody's eyes with eyes with his own so tilt~~-like brown eyes.
"Fine," said Woody, squirming nder the boy's scrutiny.
Woody sat down on the floor, behind the boy.
An old man sat on the chair opposite them, he was the boy's grandfather.
Abruptly, the old man shot up from his chair and thrust an accusatory finger at his brown-eyed grandson.
"I'm sick of your dreadlocks!" he said his ancient, (lined) whiskery face contorted in angst.
"I'm sick of the the way they spill from your head like jaundice needles, like obscene pasta, why don't you get a haircut, goddammit!!"
He sat down slowly, nd read tilted his head, and prayed painfully, and watched the old scenes unfold within the waterstained sequin ceiling stucco.