New World Man

Flash Fiction

He’s not concerned with yesterday. On his eyes faded the information about what was now and discarded the cell phones and looks of concern by so many people. All of which were the same. Whether noses wide or short, with shaven faces or glittery mascara, everyone is concerned with the same thing: “I” “I” “I”.

Noble enough to know what’s right. But all they say: “I”, “I”, “I”. Gasps. The world weighs on their shoulders.

Over the rooftops, inside the heads of the commuters on the subway train, bubbling out of the lips of everyone that is speaking: “I” “I” “I”. Because they feel the heat of the third world. Ban all immigration and heavy water. We are not for rent.

It is a course with every verse the same as the last one: “I” “I” “I”. A restless romantique.

He looks at all of the nonsense that all of the people are speaking and wonders why they do not look up at the sun or bank sign which records only two things: the time and the temperature.