A Shared Man’s Thoughts

He was half man; half male. His chest reddened to a mighty radish shade in the summer months, but paled in comparison anytime before spring.
As he looked around, taking in the view and its accompanying air, he frowned. Not a frown enough to worry passing thieves or innocent children; more a frown of puzzlement. For he was missing something: his wife.

His wife went shopping 17 years ago and didn’t come home. Sadly for him, she went shopping for another man/male. He felt he’d been short changed in his marriage; she felt that she hadn’t even had that much. They fell in love whilst still young and, like jumping into an ill-managed hammock, they soon fell out again before age became an issue.

Yet, here he was: 17 years on and missing her. He bit into a sandwich, hoping that it was his. He didn’t like beetroot and today only served to remind him why: it didn’t taste good in beef spread sandwiches. He’d have to remember to not add beetroot; just as soon as he stopped forgetting that he didn’t like it.

As the sun pelted its rays onto his nose, he closed his eyes. He knew for a fact they were his as they formed two large areas of his upper face. He breathed once more. This was something he’d been doing since birth but today, for some reason, he made note in his head that he’d done it. It felt good; by far better than the alternative.

“Tomorrow is another day,” he sighed.

It was 08:37am.

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