Guy J's profile


Written by Guy J Jackson on Sunday the 7th of February 2010
First maybe a whiff of a giggle here: the town is called BOWNESS, but not the bonus you're thinking of, more of a sort of of-ness of a bow in the hair or an arrow in the bow.  Stevens is there, and he ambles today between the laundry and the coffee counter, and every time he leaves the coffee counter the redhead's eyes tie in his direction. Stevens doesn't notice, and the romance dies the next hour.  Bub is at the coffee counter, too, watching Stevens think and wondering about how Stevens finds so much to think.  Bub doesn't have much to think, Bub is just there over breakfast with a grubbed fistful-of-tea, he's not bothered even by the door he's gotta install today, though he's never installed a door with a curved top, this'll be the first time.  Stevens, anyway, looks bothered. Looks to be having an ordeal tussling with his laundry. Man, it's only laundry, Bub murmurs in a psychic murmur, aiming toward Stevens.
Outside, down the end of the street, is Brown's Field, where Brown housekeeps a handy wheel, where Brown's cow likes to stand itself against the sky, knowing it looks good against the sky, and the cow must know because it's always perching on a particular hillock that puts it up in bold silhouette no matter the weather, no matter the position of the sun.  It looks lordly down on the farm, the farm being called THE ROW, and the cow reckons in cow fashion that it must be called The Row because it's where something's always being lined up.
Stevens pauses mid-street, exactly central between the door of the laundry and the door of the coffee counter. He regards the cow in its silhouette finery.  Something about the simplicity of the cow checks Stevens in his worry. He must get over his hatred of laundry.  It's only laundry, after all.  It's got ancient ritual to it, anyhow.  He should enjoy the ancient feel in his very genes and bones.  Or anyway, it's only laundry.  Cued, a thought slips into Stevens' head, another voice even, a gruff one, saying: Man, it's only laundry.