Among the stale odours of hot food and cold,
In a fly-spotted window I there did behold,
A ship in a bottle some sailor had made,
In watches below, swinging South with the Trade…
From Cicely Fox Smith’s A Ship in a Bottle (1920)
The Bible was the only book he read.
He didn’t read it often but when he did he wore his mother’s glasses.
They tired his eyes so that after a short time he was always obliged to stop.
From Flannery O’Connor’s Wise Blood (1952)
He knew he was clever. It was a fact and needed no confirmation or evidence.
Just ask my parents; they’ll tell you how clever I was at school. Could have been anything. Painter. Actor. Mathematician.
His parents weren’t around anymore to back him up and sing his praises. Showing him off like a prized possession.
Could have been anything. Anything. But I chose to be a photographer. My choice. Could’ve been anything though.
Now there was no way he could prove he much more than a wedding photographer. No way of displaying his cleverness. And this is what frustrated him the most.