Thursday, June 17, 2010

because we breathe in sound (opening lines)

The smell of music pounded on the speakers. It was soft, like downy, and rocked Andrew into sleep. He began to hum a lullaby. Lullabies had always reminded him of grandma, though he could hardly recall more than her wrinkles and whispers; the murmurs and the songs about kings and plagues and bathtubs would cross his mind every so often, like her fingers would’ve crossed his brow and brushed his eyes closed before bedtime. Now her hands were replaced with cords and scents, ever since the memes became the mothers and the mothers became obsolete.
But his memories never lasted long at all.
Curry splayed through the sensors and marched into his nostrils, troops of red armies sent to wake him. They were strong. He was late. He was at least seven minutes late-- the intense seasonings didn’t start until exactly 8:36 am, and curry was always the second. The navy pin-striped suit sat ready, and showering was not an option as water could only be turned on before 8:34 and was shut off at 8:40. Tripping to the dresser, Andrew half buttoned his shirt and shrugged his pants on, grabbing a piece of automatic toast before hitching out the door.

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