“Fiction is the truth inside the lie.” – Stephen King
When I work the closing shift at the auto parts store, we do a thing called store recovery, sometimes called front and facing. Basically, employees go up and down each aisle, bringing items to the front of the shelves, putting them in the correct spots, and keeping an eye out for empties (see: theft).
So, life has been good and bad lately. Mostly good, but I’m completely and utterly broke now. At least I’d been saving up some cash. Not easy to do at intro-level, part-time pay, but I did it. I did it, he said, a far away look in his eyes. I did it.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m the grow old gracefully type. I don’t feel very old, but some things just aren’t the same as they were in my twenties and early thirties. Here’s a few things off the top of my head I’m noticing.
I was reading a short story collection by Clive Barker last night before bed. That man writes strong prose, ladies and gentlemen. Very strong. So I asked myself why he was strong and the babbling I do weak. I sort of came up with this:
Just tell the story.
My last post was about the new kid at work being a d-bag. He has now climbed out of said category and is a pretty cool guy. (Today, OP was a pretty cool guy…)