by David Henson
All his kitchen cabinets are eye-level. To get into bed, he stands at the foot and whispers timber. Getting up in mornings is no longer challenging since the rope and pulley. His recumbent-seat car is equipped with special rods and mirrors, and his upstanding bank teller job is perfect. When his grown daughter begs him to seek help, he bombards her with glittering excuses and zirconium statistics. She says the problem is elsewhere, but he feels well-adjusted the way he is. Life is good, he tells her. Folding is for origami and fools.
David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels and Hong Kong and now reside in Illinois. His work has been nominated for three Pushcart Prizes, Best of the Net and Best Small Fictions and has appeared in various journals including Pithead Chapel, Gone Lawn, Moonpark Review, Literally Stories, and Fiction on the Web. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His Twitter is @annalou8.