The Predictor

Photograph by John A. Schakel, Jr.


The Predictor

by Cat Hughes


1.

He's there everyday, this gap-toothed, grizzled old man standing outside the corner store. Sipping from a can of cider at all times, he wears a stained, mangy trench coat, whatever the weather. Sometimes he's arguing with bearded, long-haired, old drinking buddies; but mostly he's alone. I see him on my walk to work every morning and my heart takes a pause as I approach. Everyone who passes is greeted with either an enthusiastic thumbs up, or a high-pitched, possessed: "Fuck off, ye bastard!" He's become a very reliable predictor of how my day will turn out

2.

The Predictor


He's there everyday, this gap-toothed,
grizzled old man standing outside
the corner store. Sipping from a can of cider
at all times, he wears a stained,
mangy trench coat, whatever the weather.
Sometimes he's arguing with bearded,
long-haired, old drinking buddies;
but mostly he's alone.
I see him on my walk to work every morning
and my heart takes a pause as I approach.
Everyone who passes is greeted with either
an enthusiastic thumbs up, or a high-pitched,
possessed: "Fuck off, ye bastard!"
He's become a very reliable predictor
of how my day will turn out

Cat Hughes

Posted over on Robert McEvily's site: Six Sentences

1. Cat's original six sentences of prose.
2. Line breaks by Glenn Buttkus