choose-yr-own-dementia

this is just a description of a local complex that was at the start of a story i never ended up finishing. it would be really interesting to see where someone else would take it (i got bogged down in narcolepsy and ostracising animals).

give it a try, i guess, if something clicks in your mind
like a bottle against a window

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every tuesday afternoon i take the t train on the a line to the welfare office and collect my cheque. it’s not a long walk from the train station to the building. the streets seem unnecessarily wide, but the footpath is always shaded on the left side in the mornings all the way until the office. being a holdover from the brief experimentation with community building that the government embarked upon a decade ago, it is incorporated within an outdoor mall of stores that border a large carpark. however, the government did not closely consider the demographics of the suburb, hence the welfare office is always the busiest. the stores do not do well. i try and make the most out of my visits to the office by being as friendly as possible with the clerks. i am on first name terms with most of them now. sandra has three kids and a husband who drinks. she wants to go interstate to live with her sister. daniel got his reception job through his uncle and he's very thankful for the second chance that uncle barry gave him. he was in an lsd-induced coma for a week in 2003. his neck involuntarily twitches when he is focusing on something.

the people who are on the same side of the bench as me are less interesting. they are considerably less entertaining. the children swing on the disused bicycle racks as their parents smoke cheap cigarettes outside the walls, talking about something loudly and devotedly. there’s the occasional freakout, but otherwise it’s just the usual dismal hum of people with nothing to do.

The End

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