Truant
Two schools ago, an art teacher said that it all comes down to elementary shapes. He could understand that. Nose as triangle, head as circle. Although inclined to say no to everyone and anything, he draws people for some man as instructed. Sticks for arms, line for mouth, blanks for eyes. The man looks at the drawing through his bifocals, types a report, and files it away.
A door is unlocked, so he goes out unnoticed. He rides the subway for hours, his face untouchable behind smeared glass. A film scrolls outside his window where bars divide each blurred frame. He rustles the pages of a pulp magazine with his thumb but in the din it makes no sound. In his empty home he poses in front of the mirror, holding a toy gun by its muzzle like a caught fish.