Face

The next morning, he awoke and walked into the street to gaze up at cavorting seagulls with a deadened expression. His face had lost all feeling the day before in a matinee showing of Othello. Just as he suspected, the traffic didn’t slow to look at him as he crossed the street, lips hanging lifelessly. Only when he tried to buy orange juice did he realize that not only could he not smile good morning, he couldn’t say it either. Troubled, he waved instead. Drooping over the incessant fire in his eyes, his eyelids dragged like shackles on the street.