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Neckties (Short Prose)
The narrator is not ready. The narrator is still not ready. The narrator is now ready.
Autumn throws a party, using leaves for confetti. This is Brooke Chiodo's private party. Everyone else experiences spring. Everywhere Brooke Chiodo ventures, dried leaves follow, even within her dreams. One morning, Brooke Chiodo attends an interview, only to get denied work due to the narrator saying so. Brooke Chiodo reprimands Autumn, preventing her from any further raking, compiling, and/or dumping within Brooke Chiodo's vicinity. Autumn extends her hand, demanding wages. Suddenly, the grammatical person switches. I throw a crumbled dollar at Autumn.
Autumn removes an article of clothing. The former line is an abstraction and should be ignored. Autumn, in actuality, removes an article from The New Yorker, for toilet paper presents itself not within sight, though it does within taste and feel. This is why neckties appear the way they do, contrary to the way they don't. Now, there is a roast in the oven that must be attended to.
