The Clipboard
He lay on his back on the eight-foot clipboard with the top of his head held tight. The odd figure standing over him doodled and jotted down the consequences of his life, carefully dotting his eyes and crossing his teeth and making capitals with great flourishes. There were scribbles in his margins and notes on his feet and thumbnail sketches, and a great mess indeed. Then the odd figure crumpled him up and looked at the trash can, wondering if he was worth two points. Harry W. Yeatts Jr. |