No Wife, No Horse, No Moustache
Bob was a lonely bastard. He had no friends, no family
and a low-paying, unrewarding job. His day always followed the
same routine. Get up, go to work, come home, watch t.v., go to
sleep. Day after day after day after day. . . Bob was lonely.
Bob was bored. Bob needed a little salt shaken on the ugly,
open-wound that was his life.
One day it was there. That touch of excitement needed to
rip Bob out of the trap of boring monotony. It had come. It had
come in the shape of a donut.
At first glance the donut was like any other. Round and small,
with strange pink frosting and a hole in the middle. It sat in
its box, looking sad and a little lonely in that box all by itself.
Bob picked it up and along with the bitter, dark liquid the company
tried to pass off as coffee he took it to this desk.
Perhaps sensing that this donut was something special, something
beyond that of an ordinary donut, Bob put off eating it right
away. Instead he sat it down on a little napkin and resumed the
drudgery of his daily work. He sipped his coffee, he typed into
his computer, its amber screen slowly sucking his life, every now
and then he would glance at the donut. . .
Strange and mysterious, the donut slowly worked its way into
Bob's mind. Every time his eyes wondered and fell upon the donut
his thoughts were disrupted. All he could do was sit and stare
blankly at its smooth, pink surface. Eventually, it became harder
and harder for Bob to tear his eyes away. Eventually, all he
could think about was the donut.
. . .unfinished fragment. . .