seymoure

Did Damocles’ Get Ulcers?

“We must let go of the life we have planned,
so as to accept the one that is waiting for us.”
-Joseph Campbell

Every twenty minutes I turned on one of the lights in my window, and then turned off another. That was my signal that everything was alright.

Now I was without anything to keep my mind occupied for the next 20 minutes.

The last piece of pizza drooped over the edge of the cardboard box in which it had been delivered.

The clock told me it was one in the morning, yet nothing like sleep was anywhere to be found. I would need to find something to do.

The television channels had signed off the air. I had watched the jets flying over the desert while the “Star Spangled Banner” all three times.

It was too late to play the stereo and not have the police called.

Both the pistols had been cleaned and oiled within an inch of their lives, and any more attention might actually damage them.

I could really hear every tick of the clock hanging on the wall.

I had called Hugo upstairs about an hour ago, but he had been just on the verge of somnambulism throughout the conversation, so there didn’t seem to be any fairness in keeping him up much longer.

Sitting on the bed, then putting my head on the pillow was followed soon by my walking up and down in the room. My mind kept playing and replaying what to do if MacPherson showed up at my door. Or more likely, crashed through my wall.

Someday businesses would stay open all night, but right now the sidewalks had been taken in and put away.

I hadn’t asked, but it would be great if the newspaper came to my door. At least it would be something to read.

This was torture.