His thoughts were blank. He finished installing a dishwasher and didn’t know what to do next. Moving from room to room he picked up small things and moved them around. Maybe his wife was having an affair or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe his teenage daughter hated him or maybe she didn’t. Maybe his son didn’t care one way or the other...or maybe he did. He just didn’t seem to have a grasp on his world, he merely moved from one time consuming task to another. Work was work, home was home and the drive between was merely radio time. Every few months he’d sit in front of the computer and write...stuff like this...to try and prove to himself he was still alive. Or he’d read on-line articles at Z Magazine, get himself all worked up and swear one day he’d do something about it all. But in the end, the writing only lasted a couple of paragraphs, he’d log off the computer, pour himself another glass of wine, watch a movie and go to bed.
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