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Trab

There He Sat

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There He Sat

By Trab

It was a Friday night, well, evening, really. Dark, wet, and cold, the weather had been anything but a pleasure to all who braved it, including me. The TV programming just totally sucked today, and I had completely exhausted my small library of tapes and DVDs. I bundled myself up, and dragged my sorry ass into the car and left for the movie rental place. As I pulled into the parking lot, I could see that there was only one other person who had braved the damp misery.

Ten feet away, in an older Toyota Corolla, which might or might not really be red, as sodium vapor lights hide colors so effectively, sat a youngish man, whose color couldn’t be disguised. The light, against the black background, highlighted the blond hair that was more like white cotton, topping a blanched face. He was looking down, and slowly picked a longish French fry out of a small packet. Putting it in his mouth, he chewed slowly. When done, he wiped his eyes. And again. Then, ever so hesitantly, he picked out another fry. Again the slow movement of his hand to his mouth, the careful and hesitant nibbling of this morsel, and again, wiping his eyes.

Feeling rather like a creep, I watched him. He was beautiful, he was alone, he was hurting. Yes, I could see that those were tears he was wiping from his eyes. I tried to imagine what could possibly be wrong. What could induce someone to go out on a night like tonight, and eat alone, in the cold and the dark? How had life screwed with him? Why does life suck so? Why? I could stand it no more. I had to do something; anything, to relieve the pain, the anguish, the despair.

I drove away without ever getting out of my car, leaving his pain behind me, for him to suffer in the now empty parking lot; and taking my own pain with me.

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That exactly what went through my thoughts Jason; about Trab not supposed to write like that.

Trab this is like a stand alone portrait of multiple exposures of the human condition.

Damn fine work!

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I appreciate all your comments, but you truly all need to realize that I don't make up my stories. I have things that happen in my life, and sometimes they are painful, or beautiful, or unmentionable. I write about those things, because I have a need to write about them at that time. I can make very minor adjustments to the facts, but the basic premise is exactly as it happened to me. I cannot make a longer story, simply because there ISN'T any longer story.

I too, would like to know more about this man. I wish I'd had the guts to get out of my car and speak with him. For all I know, he may have later left, and done himself damage. He may have become a significant other for me. I will never know, and I will probably never be able to concoct such a fiction work, although I won't deliberately write that possibility out of my life story.

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I appreciate all your comments, but you truly all need to realize that I don't make up my stories. I have things that happen in my life, and sometimes they are painful, or beautiful, or unmentionable. I write about those things, because I have a need to write about them at that time. I can make very minor adjustments to the facts, but the basic premise is exactly as it happened to me. I cannot make a longer story, simply because there ISN'T any longer story.

I too, would like to know more about this man. I wish I'd had the guts to get out of my car and speak with him. For all I know, he may have later left, and done himself damage. He may have become a significant other for me. I will never know, and I will probably never be able to concoct such a fiction work, although I won't deliberately write that possibility out of my life story.

I think you miss the point of our salutations to your work Trab.

Nearly every story has some fact behind it, even fairy tails and fantasy have a basis in reality to tell their moral.

Part of the ability of some of the greatest writers is their power of observation of what is happening around them.

You have that and the ability to record it in detail.

Furthermore you do that with relevance to the point of your story, and you do it with elegance.

Some of us like to embellish our stories. You take the facts and present them. That is their beauty. You do not need to apologise for that.

It seems to me that your stories always have an element beyond the obvious, that speaks to us all.

:icon8:

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