Above me, there was a ceiling plastered with thousands of pieces of faux popcorn. Surrounding me were four beige walls. On one of these walls hung a portrait of Jesus with shoulder-length hair, a well-trimmed beard, an earnest gaze, a long, handsome, shining face, and a head surrounded by a nimbus. A window looked out upon an outside world decorated with trees. In the distance, I saw a parking lot. Below me, a faux gold carpet appeared to have been carved out by some mediocre sculptor. A bedside clock of inferior quality appeared to be abuzz with the reminder that it was past six o’clock and time to rise.
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Paul Enns Wiebe perpetually asks himself, "What do I want to write when I grow up?" Archives
January 2021
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