A NovelBook - 2015
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He tried to be smiling stone. Take even breaths and fall into the moment and the light. The first few times he's tried this, tried to get so absorbed in the sights and sounds and smells of the moment, he;s fallen asleep, but now he's had enough practice at it to savor and relish the treeness of trees, for example. Three moved gently, if you paid close attention, and they brushed against each other, and you could only imagine their sensory apparatuses, their particularly sylvan and dendritic take on the world; perhaps, he had sometimes thought, they are staring at me and trying to dig the Daveness of Dave.
Sometimes we forget that we were all teenagers once, and we forget that teenagers are enormously sensitive, and for all their masks and disguises and japes and adopted personas and fear of being uncool and fear of being found out as only themselves, they are as sharply alert to the right time not to speak as any older seasoned bruised listener.
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