The king of random

He sat in the easy chair and spouted random scenes.

“Mr. Random, yep, that’s me,” he said darkly but with an easy smile. “The story of my life will make no sense. It’ll be a new-wave, high-art concept piece, and years from now they’ll rave about what a pioneer I was. Yep. I can see it now.”

He may have had a cult following had anyone noticed what he was doing, but he was in an out-of-the-way, random place in the internet and no one saw what he was up to. 

“It’s right clever, though, innit?” he would say to no one in particular, because no one in particular was always there; that is to say, no one was ever there. “Someday they’ll see what I was doing, and some high literary critic will say, “My oh my, he was brilliant and we never noticed.”

It was always his plan to be discovered and recognized as a genius long after his death, which turned out to be not the greatest plan at all.

Forgotten in his time, he is well-remembered now. For what that’s worth.

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