Recipient of Reticence

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The morning sun rose like a humpbacked cat rising through the thick foliage of torn trees and sloped streets. A man arose as well, as he always had and as he always will. His life has been mundane, monotonous, episodic. The mattress on the floor seems to be the only support in his dormant life. Walls painted with sorrow and sordid quality dresses the atmosphere and toils with the man’s voice. Walls that have an uneven surface; a mirror to the man’s routine. There is little to no furnishing in this small apartment, and about the only noticeable piece is so because of its rotten smell, that of the chair in the corner of the room. The man ruffled his shaggy head of hair and scratched his ribcage, as he arose from the side of the mattress. Air slithered from the overhanging air vent above him and galvanized his senses. But he came back down to Earth with the scorching burn of his abdomen. He looked at the doctor’s business card that is pinned to the wall facing him, and scoffs. It’s been a constant nuisance but there’s been no financial levity in his life to make such an investment. Life trickles down a drowning stream and collapses into a monumental hole that bellows. Demons juristic the man’s subconscious, amd any notion that follows. He stares out the only window in his apartment, that constantly fogs and whistles in the night. Through the window he can see the main road that trails into the downtown plaza, where he can find gullible, vacant minded individuals to pick pocket. In the plaza, theres a center water sprout that superimposes any other financial investment that the small community has put their money towards. He can hear small children playing in the community playground right across from the plaza, and hears the morning song of the birds trickling through. The man dressed himself with his overcoat in his rather empty closet, and some jeans that have seen the worst of times. He walks out the creaky door and down the stairs and out through the front, where he can feel the stinging breeze of the start of Winter and the plastered dew on the knee high grass that dress the yards of the apartment. The plaza to his left, along with the playground, and foreward is the meaningless little road that few drive on. Above his heads the massive trees that are still upright although always seem to be on the verge of tipping over. Osstensibly, there was no auspicious value in notifying a soul, but he was always tempted to do so because of the ominous overganging tree right above his apartment window.