the big bang
The sound of his voice is creation itself though he wanders misguided without cause or recollection. The words pour from his lips without so much as a thought. He weaves the beginning of his very own end but these stories he tells from times long past about people he once knew and places he had once been are all that remains. Everything else has been forgotten and he struggles with the names because he no longer remembers the faces, just the stories he has rehearsed. They connect him to a story he is no longer part of and a world that doesn’t know what to do with him. Most turn their heads and continue walking ignoring the birth taking place beyond aisles of best sellers but before thrillers and mysteries. I smile and I nod and I ask questions grasping for the tendrils of creation before me. I only make $8.50 an hour but his presence enriches me.
