Taken In

Now the loonies poured out into the sun, the better behaved left to their own devices, the others in herds in charge of warders. The whistle blew and the herd stopped; again, and it proceeded.--Beckett

Warm now. The stifling filth of a comfortable bed. I’d been taken in, underwing, hot soup spoon in my mouth. The same one I breathed out of, and in, for lack of etiquette. The nose, now that was for smelling, sniffing. The life breath came through that gaping, toothed hole. The life breath and pie, of course. Some things go without saying—pie, nearly always. So I’d found that someone had quite rudely plucked me out of my fantasy, on that endless hill of pedestrian happenings, and placed me squarely with a bed, blanket, three squares a day, and a fuck of a headache. Ok, so maybe I can’t blame them for the last, but the rest was bad enough. I looked down. What the hell had they dressed me in? A tuxedo? with long, wrinkled tails. I looked like a fucking muddy penguin. Sort of wished I was one. This whole disaster—these comforts seemed to grow on me, gradually, so that one day, today in fact, I was suddenly amazed at how they got there—how I got there. Was I so incurious as to let the world, no, time, work itself on me and my outfit? Could it be helped? I felt sick. The others, who had witnessed it all along, knowingly, they looked at me now, deeply concerned. Felix, for one, and Fingali, they were both good friends, just like my tux was a good fit. They helped me to my feet. My every need would be attended to. Felix said, “You ok?” “You gonna eat that,” I replied eying the unopened candy bar in his breast pocket. “Too early for candy.” And it was. But I’d come this far insensible of the rules; it seemed a grave solecism to stop now.