Date: Thu, 18 Jul 2013 04:21:35 +0200
From: Pierre Lacroissant
Subject: One With Glasses, One Without

*So, I'm a Danish guy that tries to convert my story telling into English
instead of my native language. I bet there will be a lot of bad grammar and
lack of commas. However, I have an urge to tell stories, and I want to
submit something to Nifty. I hope you'll enjoy anyway.*

*I'm planning on making this a line of parts of a greater story. This is
the first, which describes Phillip meeting Pierre. In my native language I
try to mix a modern, somewhat experimental style with basic storytelling.
In these parts of story, I will try and do the same in English. I have no
idea if it'll work, but this is my first shot.*

_________________________________________________________________

*One With Glasses, One Without*

A pair of glasses reflects sunlight, and this sunlight is deflected by
multiple drops of water on the surface. The water is from a nearby
fountain, and Phillip is sitting on a bench. He's reading a copy of
Dostoyevsky's *Crime and Punishment*. It's a tough one to read – so much
meaning in every single sentence. It sure interests Phillip, yet it really
is hard. He wants to expand his knowledge of literature, and this Russian
writer seems to be one, you simply can't miss.

This area around of the fountain is one of Phillip's favorite places in
this city. It is private with its surrounding hedges, and, however, some
broad stairs make a wide entrance from the rest of the park. A few times,
Phillip has met other people down here, but now he's by himself and a
Russian writer is sitting next to him. He writes literature, and suddenly
Phillip is writing literature. He has placed a notebook on top of a closed
Dostoyevsky and presses a pen towards the paper. Somebody would laugh at
this kind of mockery, if somebody actually was there. Nevertheless, this
could also be an image of true inspiration coming from its source.

A guy called Phillip marches through a park with a book and a notebook and
a pen in a pair of hands that belongs to him. Interesting how a person
called Phillip is able to walk determined without paying attention to his
surroundings. Two sets of reality – the one under the bone structure of
Phillip's scalp, and the one around him, touching him and demanding him.
Interesting how a guy called Phillip is able to bump into another person
without really realizing it before lying on ground. Bumping into another
person with a shoulder. Right shoulder against left shoulder. A pair of
shoulders on a set of persons in a park.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you." Another person reaches down to Phillip
and pulls him up.

"Guess I was a bit absent. Are you alright?" This other person then
introduces himself as Pierre.

"Pierre?" Phillip asks. "Are you French?"

"I suppose you could say that. Or I mean – my dad is. My mom's from around."

Pierre puts his hands in his pockets. He's wearing a pair black jeans and a
shirt, sleeves rolled up.

"Are you reading that old Russian bastard?" Pierre asks.

Phillip looks confused at Pierre, but then he gets it and starts studying
the book and his hands. He finds Pierre's charisma strangely intimidating.
It must be his intelligent eyes, piercing the book and Phillip's hands.
Pierre knows every single sentence in the novel and he knows about the
anatomy of every single sinew and bone in Phillip's hands.

"Dostoyevsky? Yeah, I am." Phillip makes eye contact with Pierre. His stare
is locked somehow, and he's aware of his hands turning the book around
several times before he gets some sort of control over this pair of limbs.

"Oh I'm a great fan of him. I read Crime and Punishment some years ago.
It's a tough one, isn't it?" Pierre asks and laughs.

"Yeah, I think so. I haven't read much of it just yet, but it seems like
he's trying to understand the human nature in every sentence. You know what
I mean? It's like he ... like he uses every single sentence to explain
something greater than what is shown explicitly. It's almost like
Hemingway."

"Really? And how's that?" Pierre seems interested. His eyes appear to have
widened a fraction of anything barely visible.

"Uhm ... well – I know Dostoyevsky is way more flamboyant and almost
aggressive in his style, but this way of having a greater meaning in every
sentence has some similarities to Hemingway's minimalistic style." Phillip
glares back at Pierre, who smiles. He's enjoying himself.

"That's interesting. I get your point, but what about all the description
of the setting and the way of letting the reader know about the
protagonist's feelings towards people and things around him? That doesn't
seem very Hemingway to me."

Phillip looks down at his copy one more time, as he realizes that he didn't
think of that. Pierre is right about this. "I haven't thought of it that
way. You're right."

Pierre thinks for a second and then asks for Phillip's name. They shake
each other's hands to get some sort of official manners into this odd and
sudden interaction between two complete strangers. They walk away after a
polite and automatic *thank you* for a provocative and stimulating
conversation. The distance grows, and Phillip has a feeling that they just
might bump into each other again. His shirt is dirty from the gravel.