The word “despot” she loved, and maybe the idea, too, just a table and a chair and a voice on a loudspeaker telling you exactly how to situate yourself with regard to them. Sit there, at the corner. Keep your elbows off. Or sit there at the side and put your elbows on it. Await further instructions. She sat, elbows off, as commanded. She had so much in her pockets that she didn’t know what to do with, a flower petal, a bobby pin, a note from her mother, a note to her mother, a pill that she had been promised would make her lickerish, a bit of lint that was the only remnant of a sweater she had loved more than she had ever loved a man or woman. She thought about them, as a group, then one by one, then one by one backwards, all while satisfying the orders of the despot. This was freedom, whether people were willing to admit it or not.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
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