Category Archives: Glenn W. Cooper

THE LEFTOVER BITS

     One morning a man’s work clothes take on a life of
their own and leave for work without him.
     What a fine arrangement! the man thinks.
     But before he can eat his breakfast, his breakfast eats
itself, leaving the bowl empty even before he gets the
spoon to his mouth. His glass of orange juice drains
before his eyes, as though in time-lapse photography …
     What now? he wonders.
     Ideally he would like to go back to sleep, but his
sleep has somehow slept itself, leaving him terminally
awake.
     He opens his box of paints but the paintings have
already painted themselves …
     The dog has already walked itself …
     The newspaper has read itself …
     The hours are long, since they have already played
themselves out; our man bears witness to the left-over
bits that time didn’t want …