The Game of Prose


A man stands at a bus stop with his umbrella flipped out above his head.

He doesn’t attempt to adjust it, despite the rain pouring in and spraying around him.

Cars drive by and splash his corduroy pants, soaking them up to his knees.

He doesn’t flinch.

After eight peculiar minutes the bus arrives, and as he walks on he discards the umbrella in the trash bin.

The driver looks at him, her right eyebrow twisted upward, “Sir, are you alright?”

The man replies, “My life’s always been a piece of cake. For once I wanted to know what it felt like to be stuck in a rut and care too little to do anything about it.”

Suggestion by: D. Hibbard


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