I bought six postcards at the Tate Modern last week, each featuring a different artist.
I’ve written a very short story on the back of each one. No, I didn’t realise Jan Carson has already done it.
It’s a fun exercise, so I thought I’d post them here. Today’s is Jeff Wall, A Sudden Gust Of Wind.
If you’re lonely and want to get some mail, drop me a line and I’ll post one to you. Second class, obviously.
No Final Notice
“Why were you at Five Pearson Drive yesterday?”
The door slammed in his face. His mornings began with accusations, not kisses.
Walking his route, he buried the thought of infidelities in his sack. The weight freed him to revel in delivering final notices.
Today, that satisfaction drove him down Pearson Drive.
Approaching number five, he pulled out an envelope stamped, “Final Reminder. Payment Overdue.”
Bypassing the letterbox, he hammered the knocker.
The door opened and as the letter was exchanged, he tapped it, saying, “Looks like trouble.”
Smiling, the man at the door said, “I’ve got something for you.”
A letter of divorce. So the bitch was fucking him.
Instead of going for the jaw, he threw off his sack, emptying the letters into a gust.
Because undelivered bills go unpaid, and sometimes misery needs a little more time to mature.
Henry Says 