Gary and Expectations

Chapter 1

Small town blues.

To begin with she would leave. Home had slipped into a ravine everything teetered above, it seemed.

Love had skidded off-road as well.

Princess, the man at the station insisted, where to?

Chapter 2

Gary was a conservative homosexual. His office, a corner-door in the basement, oversaw every coming and going, except everyone came to work before he did, and everyone left long after he had rolled down his sleeves.

Chapter 3

Real success cannot be measured by the kilogram, or the pound. The kind she craved every waking moment was intimately related to everyday life. One could not simply be Cartesian. Breakfast, for example. Or a conversation with Roommate in the morning.

Oh, hey!

Please. I am not a morning person.

Does ill-disposition with sunrise suggest that the person in question is depressed? And, should they (and if so at which stage should they) be medicated? Should people, real or legal, profit from illness, is assisted demise acceptable?

Epilogue

Gary was on holiday and he wanted chocolate.

Workers were repairing a sewage pipe under Roommate's window, and to uncover the pipe they had to remove pavement. The drill penetrated Roommate's dream, a recurring dream in which Roommate was falling.

She was flying now, speeding down the highway on a bus. Obstacles, mind-numbing boredom, people with principles, all behind her now. So she picked up her bag – this was time for music – but she had picked up someone else's bag. A note in the bag read: I have taken large quantities of allergy medication and will die. Goodbye. Enjoy the Yuletide Party.

Her bus pulled into a gas station.

Gary pulled into the same gas station. Tried a door.

Roommate was sad. Why do people leave?

Behind the person behind the counter Gary saw chocolate: To the left, by the toilets, was a table. For a moment, when the first door he tried had been locked Gary thought this was going to be an unlucky day but the table by the toilets was free.

The bag she had taken lay open outside the door of the restroom she used. Perhaps someone, the person who could make things right, would find it (perhaps the right person's dream had led them to her bus): Gary saw the luggage.