I closed my eyes, no longer able to resist the drowsiness creeping over me. My arms ached from wielding the sledge-hammer. I saw a pair of sunglasses set down on a sandy road. Tyre treads in the sand. A yellow truck rolled right on over them. The frames survived but the lenses fractured into a thousand tiny squares. I put them on. The world was broken into pixels but still made sense. If anything it looked better. It looked enhanced. The sun goes in and there is no more need for sunglasses.
But I keep on wearing them anyway.When I awoke it was getting cool so went back inside. I passed the bookshelf, the books stacked haphazardly in no particular order. I plan to read them, haphazardly and in no particular order. For some reason a Gideon’s Bible has made it into the stack, sitting on top of an Elmore Leonard. The representatives of Gideon. My memory holds a lot. School, in particular, keeps coming back to me with startling clarity.
But I can’t picture the representatives of Gideon.I try to remember and get a shadowy impression of suits. They told the story of Gideon but I can’t remember this either. Did it involve a racoon? No, no. That’s The Beatles. Rocky Racoon, slipped into the room, to shoot off the legs of his rival. But there was a story. I knew it once. Text on an OHP. Maybe a song. A hymn – not The Beatles. Something intended to move us but not penetrating the general mood of cynicism and grinning confusion that dominated the room. The staff looking on sternly. Harry ‘Bastard’ Basterfield with tufts of hair like cotton wool stuck to the sides of his bald head. Going up to collect the Bibles with the golden logo like a lamp.
An unpleasant but necessary thing to be got through like having an eye test or seeing a nit nurse.