The Part Time People Read Free

explanation for what was happening to him, and that left only the irrational to consider. He knew that he was not imagining things. I don't even have an imagination, he thought. Even as a child he'd shown no creativity at all. He could copy a square from a book, but he could never draw one on his own. He'd have no idea what size to make it, or where to put it on the page.
     
    But he didn’t need an imagination to survive. He'd always known that he could simply plod along like millions of others seemed to do. He needed no talent, no special training to do what he intended to do, get a simple job, earn a basic living, go for long walks in the sun on sunny days, stay at home and read adventure novels when it rained. He had never asked for much, had never asked for anything at all, except, perhaps, to just be left alone. And when he'd finally realized who he was and what he wanted out of life, he'd looked around and found the right position, in the shoe store, fitting people's feet. It was suitably obscure, exactly what he wanted.
     
    If there had been signs or indications of what was soon to happen, he hadn't noticed them. The occasional nuts who came into the shoe store were harmless and forgettable. The weirdoes on the streets and on the nightly news were not a part of his life either. He had, like everybody else, taken these things for granted. Smart people go insane, he'd always thought, and then they bother no one but themselves, except every now and then they tended to go berserk and assassinate their mother or the pope and then they're put away for life, but that was none of his concern. David had never been a particularly violent man.
     
    It didn't occur to him at first that all his problems stemmed from some psycho who had picked him out of all the people in the world to pester and to persecute. No, it was only after many months, after much consideration of the facts, that he had come to this conclusion. He still wasn't completely sure, but it was the only theory that seemed to fit. He had no personal enemies. It was impossible that anyone he ever knew or anyone he'd ever met could be doing all these things to him. He had run down the list, and eliminated everybody on it. He couldn't think of anything he'd ever done to anyone that might have led to this.
     
    He put down only the truth on the application forms. He thought that it was something his employers ought to know about right from the start. They were bound to find out sooner or later in any case, so he might as well tell them about it up front. He considered himself an honest sort. Why did they laugh behind his back as soon as they had read it? Why did they look away? Even this man who'd offered, or pretended to have offered him this job had acted strangely. If I were in his place, he thought, I would have said okay and thanks for letting me know, and nothing else besides. It didn't seem so weird. He'd put on his best clothes and even shined his shoes and brushed his teeth. And then he had gone out to the city park to wait.
     
    I'm just too sensitive, he thought. I let things get to me. I shouldn't have let him push me around like this. If I never ran away, if I didn't react, he would have given up by now. This time I won't run, no matter how badly I want to, no matter how bad it gets. He had made this resolution many times before, always determined to stick to it. He never did. As soon as the signs appeared, he'd start to lose his nerve. And then the whole routine would follow as it always did, every step of the way the same every time.
     
    “But this time I won't let it get to me.” he said, loudly. A few passersby stared at him for a moment then walked on. He'd been in the park since six am, he watched the early joggers run by in the dark. The great mass flowed through around eight and then nothing until noon, when everyone suddenly appeared again, drawn out into the open by their stomachs. It was half past three by the time he left. During that time