“Man, you’re fucking tall,” they’d say. Next was, “What?! You don’t play basketball?!” as if their minds were actually on the verge of exploding at the absurdity of it. Where can you hide when you dwarf nearly everyone in your town? How could one’s entire existence be distilled down to how far one’s head was from the ground? Nobody cared about the paper bag placed in the white plastic bag that he religiously carried with him. He was big enough to hold most grown men like babies, an urge he fought like the urge to let that paper bag go.
Grant recommended doing some flash fiction for the shortest day of the year. I took him up on that. This might be the beginning of some character development for a [short] story. We’ll see.