the quilt

2013-08-18 17.44.22

THE POINT WAS THAT THERE WAS NO POINT: THAT WAS THE POINT. BEERS were drunk and cups were stacked or they weren’t, and that difference made no difference. Someone stacked empty cups into a wall, and someone dove through the wall; someone was having trouble emptying their cup in the first place, a group of others had trouble keeping their cups full, and those differences meant nothing, too. Things that happened didn’t need to be organized into lists, under THINGS THAT MEAN SOMETHING or THINGS THAT MEAN LESS or THINGS THAT DO NOT REALLY MEAN ANYTHING TO ME REALLY I DON’T THINK. The point was that there was no point: Things just were: You didn’t need to call a spade a spade because sometimes the river came up Jack Jack Three, and Queen on Fourth Street, and Four of diamonds on Fifth, and you lost to the woman with the pocket Jack eight who thought that it was Meant To Be and Things Are Finally On My Side And Maybe Things Will Be Better Now Between Us, I should Call Him After One More Hand. You won the next hand with Kings full on tens, and that meant as much as the fact that it took you seventy-eight seconds to read this cute, wannabe provocative story that repeated the line “the point was that there was no point,” for whatever reason.*

colour by Marcus Denomme

words by Liam Lachance

Author: Word and Colour

words inspired by colour

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