Still Life by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Still Life
Page 193
The Archsock descends, glowing faintly with static electricity and the scent of cedar.
Archsock: Who among you dares to rewrite the myth? Who will sacrifice their narrative arc for the greater absurdity?
Cortez, raising his sword: I will! But only if I get a podcast deal.
Abraham, clutching his plushie: I will! But only if someone finally explains the Book of Job to me.
Dylan, spinning in place: I already did. You just didn’t understand the metaphor.
Neil, gazing into the fog: I dreamed this summit once. But in the dream, the sock was my father, and Cortez was my therapist.