I hope you’re not the type to kill the messenger is an experiment in form that, I believe at least, worked. There’s definitely been many such experiments on my part that have been utter failures, but I like this one.

La_Fleche_d'Or_(Gare_du_Nord,_1927)

Somewhat stream of consciousness, the feel of this short story was inspired by the song Six Feet Deep by nineteenhundredandtwelve, which has this sort of rambling out of controlness that I really like and haven’t ever heard done in quite the same way so it always stuck with me. And so I took the title from the second line of the song.

The content of the story was inspired by two things: Billie Holiday’s (aka Eleanora Fagan’s) version of Gloomy Sunday, and trips I used to take on the train from the western suburbs to Chicago. I always sat on the top where there was a series of single seats next to windows, with a set of 3 or 4 seats together at the back of the aisle. On several occasions a group, including a very attractive girl, would pass by me to sit in the 3 or 4 seats. I’d spend the entire ride envisioning a situation where she came up to talk to me, leading to an epic conversation the likes of which I’ve ever only had in real life with a handful of people.

Conversations are rare, small talk is deafening, and so I normally just keep quiet.

My recommendation is to listen to the nineteenhundredandtwelve song before reading the story and Billie after reading it.

Hoping you’re enjoying a restful Sunday.

Cheers~

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