(Here's another cut bit from my upcoming novel, 40)
He dances with a doll named Angela, a sexy dark-haired dark-eyed dark-souled girl who reminds him a bit of someone else in the dark. She makes him laugh at this point at night and he laughs a lot.
He wonders if anybody, including Angie, including Cole and the other guys, if anybody here really knows him.
If he were to suddenly trip and plummet to the sidewalk below and feel his organs cave in against the cement and feel his brain clump in bits across the street, what would they remember about him? That he loved Depeche Mode and liked to laugh about dumb things especially after a night of drinking Sol?
Does anybody besides me think they’re haunted?
Pick a leisure sport and enjoy, Tyler.
Yet he can’t because he feels watched.
He feels weighed down even though he’s on top of the world for the moment, even if it’s his own little world.
He feels like the abyss is right there and that they’re all going down.
He feels like Bill Paxton’s character in Aliens.
He feels like the song “Motion Picture Soundtrack” off Kid A. Strange album, yes. Overrated, underrated, does it matter because it made its point.
What is my point?
These people, this buzz, this shirt, those shoes, this sky, this message.
Who was that man in the picture and what was he doing there?
Tyler shakes his head, angry, needing to let go.
Let go and let God man.
He thinks it’s amazing what one man and his words can do to his son.
Tyler laughs and looks up and doesn’t know that this will be the last set of July Fourth fireworks he’ll ever see.
Labels: 40, From The Cutting Floor