Magazines

Every evening Peter is reclined with a magazine, reading about things slowly and deeply. His wife never quite understood how he could read about things that happened months ago, sometimes years. But he wants to really understand what happened or how it worked. The immediate reaction of a journalist in the moment never meant anything to him. He won't get the digital copy because he likes the feel of the glossy paper.

Tonight he's reclined but he's without a thing to read. He asks but the nurses keep saying they can't find a thing. So he's staring at the tv, not even sure what he's watching. Between pills and questions, from the police, from doctors and specialists, and between the commercials he dozes. All that he sees his an advertisement for annuities or dental insurance. He's thinking of his magazines, picturing the covers, wondering which one is his favorite, which one he misses the most right now.