Jack practices smiling in the mirror each day before work. He can describe the sight only as eerie and grotesque.

Dead autumn leaves rustle in the wind. The muddied footprints of children trail away from puddles in the broken pavement. On a bench, holding an empty bag, Jack throws imaginary breadcrumbs to the pigeons and cries.

Five o’clock in the evening.

~

Gripped by a sense of fright that he can’t explain, Jack confronts the piece of fruit on the kitchen table. Since breakfast he has been staring at the peach, paralyzed. Finally, he dares to eat it. The universe is disturbed.