Brother
Skunk sat upon the edge of one of the bookstore display units, sawing the
soiled edges from off the paperbacks’ pages with a strip of sandpaper before
cleaning up the covers of each with furniture polish, preparing unsold stock
for its return to the relevant publisher or distribution network.
The
procedure raised billows of paper dust to settle upon the black denim of his
501s.
Skunk:
Do you think this is how blindness comes on?
cog:
What, by sanding books? You think
Skunk:
No no, but... you know,
pulling
a face
Skunk:
not by sanding books but by, you know, this,
wiping
down his thighs
Skunk:
your vision just gets dusty or something, it gets more and more dusty
until you have a
cog:
Like you’re looking through something?
Skunk:
Mmhm, an ever-thickening veil.
cog
(passing): What’s that? Poetry?
cog
(laughing): Skunk’s just wondering if doing returns can make you blind.
cog
(laughing): Fuck! Health hazard!
Laughter.
Skunk:
Well, that’s not exactly what I wa-
cog
(dramatic, as if reciting lines): “Mote upon cloggèd mote, rendered blind by
the accrued blizzard of ash.”
ache1: Cremation.
Skunk: Really? Why? I think I’d want to
be buried probably, but not
ache1: Well it makes some
kind of sense. You... my ah, my... There are ahm, there’s parts of me
that have already been burnt, so
with a shrug
Skunk: And you think that, if you’re
cremated that will com-, that that will all be somehow ehm
ache1: I know it sounds
really fucked but
checking his reaction
ache1: yeah, I suppose...
Yeah.
Skunk: Jesus.
Something
to the set of his face had cut short the others’ laughter.
Skunk
(sighing): Okay, I’m... I’ll come back to this. I’m going to go through the
back and do some of the invoices,
placing
the book to one side before standing and rubbing his palms upon each other,
Skunk:
but if it does get busier out here...
brightening
Skunk:
..work harder.
