Carl

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAA
straight—pushing forward in through the door
into the light, “Hey!” “O…” he mutters, tone deaf
faced whilst she walked out of the shower and
turns off the water. “I thought I was you-r moth,
anywayBeth…let me say something…” “Are you
drunk?” “Beth! Beth…” “You’re drunk,” she
called half smiling, quizzical and looking up at
her father, “I know you heard…” she started, all
lips exposed, unsure by the scene that is
occurring randomly and at odds to her usual
impression of her father. As if unable to
articulate the words—he grabbed hold of her
but misses her right arm and touches her lips,
and not the those on her face, unfortunately for
him, as he becomes embarrassed now, aided by
the sound of Jamela, “What the hell is going?
Where have you been Carl?” He slovenly moved
his hand away, whilst Beth held the same initial
expression, just as the bathroom door opened
wider and his wife entered, “What’s going on?
Beth put some clothes on.” “I just someone
fraj…,” he stuttered and slurred. “You’re drunk,
clearly,” she responds, “Just sleep in the empty
room. Go on!” Eventually shooed into the room
he laid down, sprawled onto the bed and quickly
fell asleep wearing his clothes, even his shoes
after blabbering words neither his wife nor
daughter could work out.
The Poetics of Chaos?
When he awoke, he looked around the
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