|
Cider Thinks about cider as if he were diabetic thinking of chocolate, or maybe a bag of donuts; already his hands tremble and his mouth is spit free. Eyes - frog eyes with liquid glaze on the lily pad of his face rocking as if in disturbed water. Hands reach and grip tightly a brown bag around the green neck of the bottle. The audience smirks secretly at his attempt to slide into obscurity. Everyone knows his habitual disgrace - it clings to him like body odour. He sits, drinking, muttering curses rich in his oblivion.
|
|
