The Invariable Man
by A.K. Meek
The Boneyard Old Micah awoke with a start, not remembering whether today was his sixtieth or sixty-first birthday.
Ever since Margaret passed, he’d wanted to forget days such as today. Aching bones and splotchy, veiny skin told him all he needed to know about his age. He didn’t need any extra reminders of his mortality.
He peeled his sweat-soaked back off of his battered leather recliner and hopped to his feet. His face flushed, and he swayed from a head rush. The dog-eared, yellowed paperback on his lap dropped to the matted carpet in a flutter of pages. With a huff and a grunt he bent and picked up the book by its broken spine. Flimsy, faded pages spread like a fan.
He placed his copy of
The Variable Man on the end table next to his recliner, right where he always placed it.
Thirty times, at least. That was one number he cared to remember. He must’ve read it that many times.
Thomas Cole, the variable man. The original fixer. Tom had an uncanny ability to fix anything, even if he didn’t understand how it worked.
Like Micah.
. . .
. Вроде как, на русский ничего не переводилось ...