The Short Video Dealer

By: Brian Goad

I walk down the street

to the dealer's kiosk

"Four hundred and fifty, please"

receiving back a faintly glowing stack of slides,

no thicker than a quarter

the slides come to life in my hands,

showing endless wonders,

infuriating injustices,

people just like me

I flip through the deck,

time melting,

spent slides lost somewhere in the room,

the only light scattered on the floor

across piles of dirty clothes

dissolving into darkness

when the dealer closes shop,

he moves to a smaller space

with notebook and a pencil,

watching as I run through the slides,

noting the focus of my eyes,

where I pause,

where my fingertips linger,

he finds flaws in my porous shell,

and can see my outline

in perfect detail

off a highway interchange is a warehouse,

larger than the nearest town,

and along one of its narrow corridors

there is a bookcase bearing my name,

stuffed with worn and scuffed notebooks

---

Brian Goad is a writer and musician in Hunterdon County, NJ. He is currently finishing work on his first collection of poetry and micro-fiction to be released in 2027. To contact Brian you can reach him on Instagram at @smallpiecesoflargethings.