A Fellow of Infinite Jest_Winter's dilemma_The Family Partition._Devil's in the Apathy
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A Fellow of Infinite Jest
Dusk comes early to the blue-black Virginian woods in November. I know these paths well, but I still stumble on scraggly branches and twigs which poke angrily through a pristine icy blanket of snow. It crunches under our heavy boots as we make our way to the old oak. It seems the perfect time of night for a visit to our childhood haunt.I stagger a bit, wondering how many beers we’ve had.“Careful, Thomas,” Peter calls out. “You can’t go back to college with a broken ankle.”His younger brother Andrew predictably laughs, carrying the nearly depleted case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Tired of the post-Th...
Winter's dilemma
Look ! shouted Winter, pointing to the meadow I told you the daffodils would be blooming! Winter tugged at Jacks leash and began jogging toward the field of freshly blooming flowers, the chill in the air seemed to have reinvigorated her senses, the sadness of the last three months seemed to fall away with every step she took closer to those beautiful yellow promises of spring, of renewal, of life.Winter, the season had not been kind to Winter the person, the pandemic had caused a major disruption in her social and romantic life. So many of the young men she was actively chatting with on t...
The Family Partition.
Gilbewww.onedoor.ccrt was an industrialist, who owned numerous industries across the country. He worked hard in his youth, as he never wanted to die in destitution. However he was affluent in his youth, as was a descendant of a rich father. But, he toiled relentlessly to maintain the name and fame and was able to hold up to his father's name and fame.He was a family of six, including his wife- Emily, his sons Ivan, Riley and Dan. He had a sweet daughter - Emma, all of them were grown up. His sons were looking after the business quite proficiently. Since all of them were, nearly the same age were always at l...
Devil's in the Apathy
Jerry, the owner of the last “restaurant,” is in a current state of embracing his alcoholism. He maintains the open/closed hours of the old fountain building. The few dollars he makes from his regulars each morning keep the beast fed. Most everyone else steers clear of the joint.This is the sort of place where “used to” is a word in the local dialect. Pronounced ustah, like “yous-ta.” Ustah is a mantra. Out of habit, or loneliness, or both; the same half dozen aging fellas show up to this sad hovel every morning, except Tuesdays when Jerry is closed, to serve themselves coffee and discuss how ...