There's No Sky

There’s no sky this morning, so the man in the hat stood in front of his lean-to and looked skyward, thinking that if he thought hard he could think the sky into being. When this failed to work he lit a nub-end cigarette and got on with the day. He thought of the bow legged man, who had crab’s legs and a felt hat without a brim, and the shamble legged man, who he thought very little of, but thought about just the same. He thought about the alms man, whom he seldom thought about, and the harridan, and the man with no nose who sniffled through the holes in his eyes. He thought about having thoughts, about thinking thoughts, but gave up thinking when he couldn’t think straight any longer, much as he tried.