116. While Kids Played Kickball
July 24, 2008
It was a cloudy summer day. The world outside Barney’s window was washed in grays. Some kids were playing with a kickball in the street, but they seemed unreal, a projection from the clouds.
Smells from pollenating plants, ripe fruit, and garbage cans wafted up to his apartment. It was a simple apartment: cot in the corner, desk by the window, bookcase full of magazines, toilet, shower, kitchen.
Barney sat at the desk, staring at a tall stack of notes. He opened a word processing program. He was supposed to write the article by tomorrow. So far, the words weren’t coming. He needed to think of a way to start.
He started going through the neat pile of notes, organizing them into piles. He had a pile of notes on his subject’s mother, a pile on the father, a pile on short films made in adolescence, a pile on later work. The piece would be biography mixed with criticism, of course. But chronological order was so boring. Couldn’t he think of a more interesting format? Read the rest of this entry »
