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A New York Problem

I stare at my watch. Itís five oíclock in the afternoon. I have a problem. And you know, itís a problem to speak of my problem. I start to sweat and cry for support. It is a problem that itís a problem to speak of my problem. I put my head in the fridge.

Six oíclock.

Itís a real problem to have a problem. I have a problem. I bite my nails and fingers. I pray. But my problem is not that I have a problem. My problem is not really a problem. My problem is I have a problem with my problem.

I watch my watch a last time and flush it angrily in the public toilet. This doesnít prevent night from falling in New York. It falls right on my head and I realize that the problem I have with my problem is that I have no solution to my problem. My problem is simply not my problem, the solution to my problem is the problem. I mean the solutionís my problem. I smile in sheer happiness, delighted.

Nine!

Glum, I still have a problem - the solution. I eat water and swallow my teeth. My problem of having a problem to solve my problem is a real problem. Can I solve solutions?

I want to buy a coffin. Oh nice, I remember I already have a broken washing machine. Goodbye, au revoir and sayonara world. Always be round and take care! Best regards. Kisses to all continents.

Story by:

Amit Parmessur

submitted at 12:16pm

17 April 2010

Amit Parmessur's web:

http://editred.com/amitparmessur