Thoughts of an unsuccessful, never married, late middle-aged, likely terminally ill American man.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
They sit empty. Waiting, inert, unable to know their purpose. At some point people will come and sit on them. Plastic will bend, metal will flex. After some time passes, feet will shuffle and bodies rise. They are again empty, exposed to the air and the incandescent light above. A man will come to gather them. He will fold them and stack them on top of each other on a large cart with wheels. He'll push the cart into a room used for storage. He'll turn out the light and close the door. The chairs will wait in the dark silence for weeks or longer to be used again.