decay.

evans awoke in a violent stupor. high noon arrived, and so did the searing burn and choking heat that accompanied it. time to stand up. looks like a good day to suffer. backtracking, he started at the eyelids then found himself at his cerebellum. dreams ten thousand years long flooded his cerebrum in an instant. the night was a let down. going through the cerebral archive, evans put the movie deteriorating his mind on pause. it was an old man. but not old in age. the wrinkles.... they stared at him. beckoning. wanting to be noticed. acknowledged. needing an audience to tell tales older than the wrinkles themselves. older than the author. tales of pain. anguish. jade. evans saw this man in his head... along with the canyons that were wrinkles. eyes and expression are useless when you're a walking wrinkle. a bad example with no soul. a harsh display of reality to the rest of the world. evans saw his face on this old man. he felt HIS face for wrinkles.

william evans looked at the barstool he was sitting on with contempt and dismay. he stared at it for a long time. really, the barstool was sitting on him. the tumbler of jack daniels was drinking him. the barkeep was keeping him. the bar was barring him. all built on the wrinkles of others. he looked at all of this....

then he finished the tumbler and ordered another.