Unnamed Narrator 44

Maybe I would write a song. Notepad in pocket, sturdy pencil. Gone to pot. What a title! Losing my wife and losing my children and if I didn’t act fast I would lose my fucking teeth. I set aside a week to pay the bastard. Dentists. Truly, I was ripe for conversion.

Okay.

This trudging would have been good for the walking muscles, the legs and so on. I stayed along the central artery, crossing many streets and one river, into crowds of people. Nobody would know me. It was too unlikely. So many years had gone by. I used to be young; bushy-tailed. Now here I was. Broken dreams? Forty-four years of age. That is not old. But it is certainly not young, it is not young. My old man was a grandfather at the same age. I needed to phone him and my mother, she would know how he was. Keep an eye on the kids, check it out with the wife. Ah fuck, problems.