Holden Caulfield: A Pastiche
A Day in the Life
It was around nine o’clock when I woke up, and I was out of cigarettes. Instead of lying around watching some phony soap opera, I grabbed my coat and scarf, and was out the door in about five minutes. Outside, it was dark and gloomy, and the goddam wind kept coming through my jacket. I had to wrap my scarf all around my face, and shove my hands deep into my pockets just to keep warm. I bet I looked like a goddam idiot, but I didn’t care.
I didn’t see nobody ‘till I got to the corner store, and it was just old Stanley behind the counter. He’s always there, every day, waiting ‘till someone comes to buy something. I threw a pack of cigarettes onto the counter, and as he was ringing them up and all, he started some phony conversation. Asked me how my day was going and all, but I could tell he didn’t really care. All of a sudden I told him I was on my way to my sister’s wedding reception, and made up this whole goddam lie. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I just wanted him to think I had somewhere to go.
After I left, I wandered the streets for a while. I didn’t know where the hell I was going, I just didn’t want to go back to the hotel I was staying at. My room was so depressing, with its empty bed, empty drawers, and empty closet and all. So I walked around outside for a while, smoking a cigarette. As I walked through the park, I thought about how my mother used to tell me to go out and get some fresh air, about how it was good for the soul. I never really understood how the air could be good for you, people are always saying how it’s filled with all those goddam toxins and stuff, but I always listened to her anyways.
I spent the rest of the day just sitting on a bench in the park, and by the time it started to get dark, I had gone through almost the whole pack of cigarettes I had just bought. I know I should stop smoking, but I can never seem to do it. Maybe it’s because I’m secretly hoping that someday I’ll get lucky, and I’ll get lung
It was around nine o’clock when I woke up, and I was out of cigarettes. Instead of lying around watching some phony soap opera, I grabbed my coat and scarf, and was out the door in about five minutes. Outside, it was dark and gloomy, and the goddam wind kept coming through my jacket. I had to wrap my scarf all around my face, and shove my hands deep into my pockets just to keep warm. I bet I looked like a goddam idiot, but I didn’t care.
I didn’t see nobody ‘till I got to the corner store, and it was just old Stanley behind the counter. He’s always there, every day, waiting ‘till someone comes to buy something. I threw a pack of cigarettes onto the counter, and as he was ringing them up and all, he started some phony conversation. Asked me how my day was going and all, but I could tell he didn’t really care. All of a sudden I told him I was on my way to my sister’s wedding reception, and made up this whole goddam lie. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I just wanted him to think I had somewhere to go.
After I left, I wandered the streets for a while. I didn’t know where the hell I was going, I just didn’t want to go back to the hotel I was staying at. My room was so depressing, with its empty bed, empty drawers, and empty closet and all. So I walked around outside for a while, smoking a cigarette. As I walked through the park, I thought about how my mother used to tell me to go out and get some fresh air, about how it was good for the soul. I never really understood how the air could be good for you, people are always saying how it’s filled with all those goddam toxins and stuff, but I always listened to her anyways.
I spent the rest of the day just sitting on a bench in the park, and by the time it started to get dark, I had gone through almost the whole pack of cigarettes I had just bought. I know I should stop smoking, but I can never seem to do it. Maybe it’s because I’m secretly hoping that someday I’ll get lucky, and I’ll get lung