Tense: anxious or nervous; a set of forms taken by a verb to indicate the time of the action in relation to the time of the utterance.
Ghosts are like people, some good, some bad, some ugly.
Some really fucking ugly.
Oh, and they’re like busses; you don’t see one for ages, then two come along at once.
Don’t talk to me about winter.
I fucking hated winter; too many clothes, too restrictive. Collar rubbing at my beard, hat hair, dry lips. All that shit. But, then again—come to think of it—I hated summer, too. Still, at least the streets were peaceful—in winter, I mean—people keeping out of the cold night air, the soft pattering of snow. And mine alone. Once everybody else had fucked off, of course.
I guess, maybe, it’s not so bad sometimes.
Wasn’t so bad sometimes.
Won’t be so bad?
Ah, fuck. Can you see me shrugging?
Tense is an issue when you’re out of time—hah—pun intended. I think.
Was out of time?
God, I’m doing my own head in now. And I didn’t even think that possible, anymore.
Didn’t even think I had a head, come to think of it.
If I am actually thinking.
So, back on topic, I can’t remember if I saw them before.
It’s all as one now.
I give up.
© JR Bryden, 2018. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from JR Bryden is strictly prohibited.