Shortly after Chomsky started kindergarten, he launched his cough drop-collecting hobby.
He found his first shiny tin, with an image of a cherry on the lid, in a kitchen trashcan. He went wild.
“Sweet serendipity! Eighteen cherry candies arranged in a clever container!”
A banana peel slapped George across the face. He charged the kid. The kid didn’t flinch. Instead, it was big old George who flinched first, which was followed by a tweak, a twitch, and ended in a seizure as the electrified bars of the zoo cage lit up. The kid laughed and trotted away after his mother.
George picked himself up and brushed the dust off his orange jumpsuit. He spit on the ground and then stomped it out, imagining it as the kid’s head.
He’d found the box of photographs in the attic. He didn’t make it up there much these days. He spent the morning heaving tea-chests around. Outside, inches from his head, rain hammered on the roof.
I’ve seen it all in my time. My job takes me all over the country, mostly to unplug the dead bodies of the gamers who were too immersed in their games to realise they were starving to death, but occasionally the call would come just in time for me to save their lives.
I was warned to expect chaos. We stood just outside as she told me that few returned alive and even fewer came back coherent. I said I wasn’t afraid, and she didn’t even bother to stifle her laughter. Nonetheless, I entered fearlessly.
Veteran’s Hospital – 1945
Dear Ma,
Just a quick note to let you know I’m coming home to visit.
A lovely nurse here at the hospital is writing this for me.
They are discharging me next week. Life sure changes when you lose your sight, but don’t worry or make a fuss please. I’ve accepted it and I’m prepared to carry on.
