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Well, let it pass; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.
~F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Sensible Thing
The news having spread quickly and having reached the last poor, unemployed soul, a miserably thin crowd came up to Mr Dis App’s door. As he walked out with his humble luggage, they overwhelmed him.
He had thought he had braced himself against the jeering and scolding and ridiculing. But the judgmental people were shouting wishes of safe passage, the cynics wailed without any comment and his loving mother said her heart was breaking for him.
Nothing too predictable but still, all acceptable from people with no fate and spirit. This would be, Dis App pondered, a gesture unconserved.
He had one backpack, one messenger bag and--what he knew no one would know is a piece of luggage to his new life--a watch.
“Where is Scott?” he asked himself.
But he knew, fate is no mirage, it would not dissipate if he blinked or looked away.
And the used car was indeed parked at the end of the street.
Cottages with unmanaged surroundings. Weeds and poppies all the way to the city limits.