NEW FICTION:

He stood at the side of the road, stood at the side of the road in bare feet and no shirt. His skinny body waxed and waned, always waxing and waning. He mumbled a song or two, clicked his fingers in accompaniment - then fell into silence. Silence was good - unless you were waxing and waning - then not so good. He stood at the side of the road, looked one way, looked the other. He grabbed a cigarette, stuck it between his dry lips, but didn't light up. He punched the ground with his bare heel, another accompaniment. He always had big energy, never knew where to put it all. His body was skinny, he had no excess, but that energy just kept on coming. So he jigged and he fluttered, he drummed and he rolled. He stood at the side of the road in bare feet and no shirt, and restlessly waited.