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[[Originally written in 2012 - surreal whimsical goof]]

Tiny words on tiny paper. A man types these miniscule characters on his little typwriter in a small park in Rhode Island. But he uses a large vocabulary, with significant phrases. He's writing a tiny legal document for a dwarf in a big city. He smokes a cigar but lights it with a miniature lighter, puts on his comically oversized glasses and undersized hat to shade his squinting eyes. Around him are junior sized deck chairs, a grandiose wooden table to the far left where two tall men sit as their children run around screaming in tiny voices. A little girl approaches the typing man.

"What are you doing?" her small voice calls.

"I'm writing a legal document for my friend, a businessman," the man replies in a deep voice.

"That sounds boring," the little girl says.

"It is boring, but it's important," the man replies.

"Why is your hat so small? Why are your glasses so big?" she asks, giggling.

"Because that's how I like them to be," the man says, smiling.

"Okay. Have a nice day," the little girl says, and then runs away to play with her friends.

The man continues typing. When he is done, he takes out the paper and tucks the tiny typewriter into his tote bag. He's a smart man, with simple pleasures. He's just short of 40 though he feels 30. He's now getting up from beneath the baby apple tree and walking away, towards the closest street. He walks down the sidewalk, thinking of what to get for lunch. He walks by two punks, who scoff at his business attire and spout derogatory words at him under their breath. It doesn't phase him. He pulls the tote bag, which is slipping, higher onto his shoulder so the strap touches his neck.

A little dive down the street is where he eats, he orders some treats, some steak and some beets. He eats, letting the ambient noise flow in and out of his head, feels the vibration of a passing flatbed. Unfolds a newspaper and begins to read, an article of a man who is rewarded for a good deed. When he is done he pays and goes on his way to the place where he stays, it's gray and in the day it looks white like a crystal in a way.

He enters his apartment by punching in a code on the door. He sets his bag on the floor by the door, spots his wife who has just come back from the store with grocery bags galore.

"Oh, you're back," she says in a shrill voice. "Good god, Gary, god forbid you give me a hand with the groceries."

"I was in the park writing a document, then I stopped off for lunch, I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you with the bags," the man says.

"Well you can help me take items out of the bags," she nags.

"Of course, honey," the man says. Then, under his breath, "You hag!"

He helps her with the food, where she continues to be rude. So he stabs her to death and then slits his throat. They all die.

The end.


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