Hard Places

The man left the room. The cold, sharp, and defined walls kept him there for sometime. He was free to exercise his developed thoughts into action.

The guard took the items out of the box:
an alligator leather belt – of questionable authenticity –
a linen shirt
a pair of trousers of a fine fabric but awkward cut
a sport coat that was acceptable 7 years ago
a pair of cap-toes that were handsomer than anything the guard had owned his entire life
a wallet
no socks; socks are for suckers

The man picked up his items. He put them on his body in a place that you and I will never know unless one of us commits a crime that leads to incarceration. It doesn’t matter what it looks like, as like a movie, the man will later arrive into the soft, misty sun; into individuality.

The man did just so. He had lots of time to think. Hardness and definition allows one to apply those qualities to those ideas that are misty and unclear in a place where n is infinite. It had been sometime since he had been thrown away from assaulting ‘a man in flip-flops’. The man was just trying to put ‘a man in flip-flops’ in some penny loafers.

In the cold and hard place the man had found the key word: ‘just’. Remove ‘just’ and you got reality. Forcibly encroaching upon other’s freedom was not the answer.

The man was mellow. He knew. The truth. Hardness had brought definition.

People ought to be free. He was free to purchase expensive cufflinks. ‘A man in flip-flops’ was free to flip-flop.

Truth. A set that contained…

Wait a minute. That can’t be right.

The taxi pulled up. Taxi? That can’t be right.

The man - bothered - fiddled with his belt. Wait a minute...