By John L. Malone

The man buried himself in his thoughts. He fancied himself a bit of a philosopher. His wife, married since their student days, knew better than to fight it. She knew he would surface eventually. But he was onto something. He pursued it to its deepest level. He was pleased with himself and spent sometime down there ruminating. When he felt hungry, the need to pee, he tried to surface but he was too far down. Oh dear, his wife said, trying to rouse him, he’s gone too far this time. That weekend he was buried with his thoughts.

John Malone “enjoys taking everyday phrases and weaving something sinister into them.”

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