1737 13 12
|
Myrna came home from her new, midnight shift, waitressing job at the Waffle House saying she was sorry but she couldn't take any more gray-haired Jesus-types with their dollar bills held high, releasing a few so they would flutter, as if borne by wings, onto the tables as…
|
1737138
|
All the years since, until this morning, I'd thought the actor was James Gregory.
|
173782
|
Liszt, Piano Sonata in B minor. I don't like it but I can't stop listening. It doesn't fit my mood, or the high plains landscape, or the early evening, pink and blue, pastel colored sky.
|
173710
|
"Well if we break for lunch at the same time wanna sit with me? I got fruit roll-ups I'll share."
Cory looked up at the boy, removing her hand from the water only to brush a lock of dark hair from her eyes. He was still smirking, jaw crunching, saliva
|
173731
|
Let us be stranded in the Andes and have to eat human flesh or at least toothpaste to survive! Let there be an earthquake! Let there be a flood! Let there be a tornado, a new ice age, an invasion from Mars. Only: let me survive.
|
1737102
|
I won’t be eating much anyway if someone doesn’t start reading me. I’ve got to get a hook so people will be drawn to my work. I’ve got a few concepts I’d like to share with you. See what you think.
|
173611
|
Will wondered if Doobie was afraid that it might be nothing but the abyss waiting on the other side, but he promised Doobie he’d let him pass on if it was finally his time.
|
1736115
|
I enjoyed the talking part though
rambling on and on for lord knows
why or how
|
173664
|
The bartender keeps asking what you smell and you say: lemons, oak, and pear. I smell lust. We move to the reds. Pinot Noir. Cabernet Sauvignon. Port.
|
17361610
|
There will always be some
who misread the dance
|
173632
|
“Emerald Leaf Borers, Dutch Elm Disease and Gypsy Moths blow through here like the Plagues of Egypt,” said Rafe, sipping from his glass of Parallel 44 wine. “You'd think we'd get more than a few days of good weather for all the parasites we feed.” …
|
173654
|
The night before leaving, we have French toast and red wine in Matthew's kitchen, our packs and sleeping bags and tents surrounding us, looming like golems. Because we're nervous, and a little drunk, the conversation inevitably turns to grammar. "I'm sure I learned…
|
173610
|
I lie on the floor of the hut and for some reason I start to think about the Harvest Days carnival and that game where you have to toss a dime in a dish to win a stuffed animal. Next thing you know I’m a little tiny guy in there in that world of plates
|
173664
|
It’s all a matter of warped mirrors. As in the multi-mirrored passage I stood before as a boy
|
17361713
|
|
1736109
|
Abominables do roam the earth; I know it.
|
173600
|
Do not listen to Christmas music out of season. Unless of course you want to ruin Christmas music. Forever.
|
17361310
|
|
173644
|
“We don’t need to kiss.” I say coyly, morphing the angles of my body to look cute, irresistible. It would be easier if I’d brushed my hair. “Pretend I’m a prostitute.” I instruct, ”They don’t kiss their clients.” It’s a reference I’ve made before, but not
|
173670
|
I am a scavenger. I sit on the telephone wire, a ravenous vulture watching a man and a woman arguing across the street. The clouds remind me of ashy marshmallows I found in a fire pit yesterday. The woman starts violently shoving the man; he stumbles…
|
173664
|
But I had learned from ingesting Roberto’s glitter-eyed fear, it could make you never close enough, and then, never far enough away. And both at the same time.
|
173510
|
It’s the small stuff. Always. A conversation with a stranger, brief yet so connected it overwhelms you. These encounters can move me beyond my reality, little reminders that, if you just crack the window a little, something very special can blow in.
|
173586
|
You lazy fuckwit! You half-assed shithead!
|
173582
|
The calculation was precise.
|
173576
|
I pay for 3 Trump Troll Dolls and a package red licorice twizzlers and head back toward the door. Dancing Gnome Girl is there to greet me. I stick a twizzler in the teeth of the donation pail.
|
173531
|
|
173510
|
The old man’s face is worn and tired, his nose and cheeks tinted red over his pale black skin from the frosty January winds blustering through town. He looks more than half frozen, which I don’t find surprising.
|
173520
|
The inhabitants of the surrounding neighborhood steered clear of the Lot, mindful of its existence, its countless drags of scrap, drenched with the fused association of many scenes and emotions from memory and experience. Left to its own devices, the place is now…
|
173596
|
|
173586
|
paper cuts, an old film unraveled
from its reel, risking exposure.
|
