Early one morning the cheese maker's son found an empty café, but it was far from quiet. A steady drone buzzed from the light fixtures and crashed his ears like car horns. He left before buying anything.
He stumbled into a convenience store, but failed to buy anything there, either.
He meandered through a small park and then settled back in the same café. He sat in the corner and drifted to when he used to pinch wings off insects and watch them run around in circles.
The cheese maker's son thought about his morning. He wondered who pinched off his wings. And he wondered why someone would do such a thing.
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Ever feel this way? I sometimes do.
The title is a slight nod to one of the greatest front men of all time: Michael Hutchence.