toby is reading in a park
toby is reading in a park.
no, well – i guess he’s writing now.
he left the holiday apartment because his friend wanted to meet a girl from tinder.
tinder is like a menu for the bored.
toby is lost.
he knows he is in a park in spain, but the other details are lacking.
he walked here.
he is sipping from an almost-empty can of lemon iced tea.
the park smells of a flower, the name of which toby doesn’t know.
he lists the words for flowers out loud.
jasmine. begonia. forget-me-not.
it could be any of those.
there is a cloud of insects swirling above toby’s head.
they seem sad, urgent, buzzing.
toby thinks ‘same’.
toby thinks ‘same’ when he sees almost anything, these days.
toby worries about being a narcissist, then about the bugs.
they probably like the flower-smell too.
toby thinks he should write this down somewhere, and make this all into a witty anecdote for future use.
toby feels glum.
toby is not sure whether being lost in this park feels liberating or free or sad or boring.
how is one meant to find out?
is there a number one could call?
toby’s phone does not work in spain.
toby wonders if this writing style is derivative and tired.
he feels tired.
he has felt tired for a long time, now.
he takes the same pills every night.
toby wonders if his friend is enjoying his date.
he stands up half-heartedly, and decides to walk up the nearby hill.
maybe there will be something to look at:
a view or something.
toby throws the can in the bin.
his friend will probably finish his date in an hour or so.
Toby Sharpe has two degrees from the University of Edinburgh. He misses living in Montréal, and currently calls London home. He is the co-founder of Project Myopia, a movement to diversify university curricula: www.projectmyopia.