defectivejunk: it made sense

At the time, it made sense. There was this British actor, and he was driving a car. On the wrong side of the road. Or was it the right side? I can't remember. It doesn't matter. The important part was the pack of VHS cassettes he had in his backpack. They were numbered, meticulously labeled. He liked order in his life. He wanted to at least keep track of his recorded shows. He deserved that much.

He went to take a drink of water but he spilled it on the dashboard. It turns out if he had a roll of paper towels there, he wouldn't have been electrocuted. Too bad his wife moved them. It was her fault. He left his mask at home. It was all her fault. I couldn't believe the insolence. Where she was drinking beer and frolicking among the roses. The rose bushes, they were beautiful and she loved to frolic among them. Now her husband was dead, and all because of a ski mask. She quietly turned the fan on high and went back to writing her novel.

She liked writing novels. It was a great escape. Her world was boring and trite now that her husband was dead and all she had to occupy her time was her mistress. She was growing tired of her. She was growing tired of people in general. People could be ever so tiring. Candy kisses and novels were all she needed. And air conditioning. She needed air conditioning year round for her asthma.

She had terrible asthma. She would cough and wheeze for hours. Luckily she had health insurance and it covered basically everything except her mental deficiencies, which were preexisting conditions and weren't covered under her basic insurance. She needed a better plan and she had no dental. If her husband was alive, he'd complain. He hated insurance. Car insurance, fire insurance, relationship insurance. He hated it all. Called it gambling. He hated gambling, except for his weekly game of poker. He loved poker. He had a passion for the game but hated other forms of gambling.

It was the strangest thing. He loved poker but he hated insurance. He sure was a strange man. He always seemed strange. People always thought he was strange. His wife even thought he was a little strange herself.

She thought about him to herself as she was reading her novel, reading the words about how the woman was being raped and killed in front of her family. She wondered where her husband was while she was lost deep in constructing the story. She had writer's block. So she was excited about that night. Her mistress was coming over and she was planning on incorporating that night's events into her novel. She liked writing novels. It was a great escape.

Labels: defectivejunk, it made sense