The intro to a novel I never finished
They say timing is everything, so I always wear a watch. I must have gone through about fifty watches in my lifetime and though I’d like to say I remember each and every one of them, I couldn’t even tell you the colour of the watch I’m wearing right now without looking at it. I snuck a peak. It’s black.
It was 4:35 p.m. (that’s right, 4:35 p.m.) on a Saturday when I realized I’d forgotten my wallet at home. I was riding my bike to work and just as I reached the end of my street, I got that feeling that I was missing something. I was. My wallet.
I was working at a second hand bookstore called Rereads. It didn’t have the worst job in the world, but on this particular Saturday I just didn’t feel like working. The thing about a working in a bookstore that makes it different from working at a record store or even a clothing store is that while music retailers get to spend their days jabbering on about how Pavement’s Slanted and Enchanted is the greatest rock record ever made (they’re wrong, but that’s what they tend to jabber on about), I spend my days helping high school students find Coles Notes and directing 40-year-olds to the Harry Potter section.
I didn’t really need my wallet for work, but I’m one of those people who won’t go anywhere without it. As I rode home, dreading restocking the sci-fi section, I hit a bump in the road and fell hands first onto the pavement.
I look up and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is running up to me to ask if I’m OK.
I am temporarily knocked unconscious, and when I am finally awakened, I’m a knight doing battle in the Middle Ages.
I break my arm and when it heals, I discover a new talent for throwing a baseball and begin my career as the youngest major leaguer in history.
I look up and see the curb, a fire hydrant and my bike a few feet down the road. It’s broken.
I walk home with scratched hands, a tear in my right pant leg and a broken bike. I get my wallet. I clean up and take the bus to work.
If someone was writing a novel about me, this is the part of my life they’d skip over.
It was 4:35 p.m. (that’s right, 4:35 p.m.) on a Saturday when I realized I’d forgotten my wallet at home. I was riding my bike to work and just as I reached the end of my street, I got that feeling that I was missing something. I was. My wallet.
I was working at a second hand bookstore called Rereads. It didn’t have the worst job in the world, but on this particular Saturday I just didn’t feel like working. The thing about a working in a bookstore that makes it different from working at a record store or even a clothing store is that while music retailers get to spend their days jabbering on about how Pavement’s Slanted and Enchanted is the greatest rock record ever made (they’re wrong, but that’s what they tend to jabber on about), I spend my days helping high school students find Coles Notes and directing 40-year-olds to the Harry Potter section.
I didn’t really need my wallet for work, but I’m one of those people who won’t go anywhere without it. As I rode home, dreading restocking the sci-fi section, I hit a bump in the road and fell hands first onto the pavement.
I look up and the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is running up to me to ask if I’m OK.
I am temporarily knocked unconscious, and when I am finally awakened, I’m a knight doing battle in the Middle Ages.
I break my arm and when it heals, I discover a new talent for throwing a baseball and begin my career as the youngest major leaguer in history.
I look up and see the curb, a fire hydrant and my bike a few feet down the road. It’s broken.
I walk home with scratched hands, a tear in my right pant leg and a broken bike. I get my wallet. I clean up and take the bus to work.
If someone was writing a novel about me, this is the part of my life they’d skip over.
posted by M at
28.11.06
4 Comments:
There are a lot of problems with it, most of which I'm sure you're aware of, but it's good.
I'm going to guess sometime between beginning of OAC and end of first year.
I think I may have written it a little later than that - second year? This character didn't even have a name.
*cough* Nick Hornby
very likely written after reading 'high fidelity'
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