A Slippery Slope

D and I sat on the couch binge-watching Sons of Anarchy. I looked over at the fridge. It sat, mocking. “Mehh!” I groaned, longingly, fingers outstretched toward the refrigerator. D nodded, sleepily. He batted the air in the direction of the fridge. “I think we deserve superpowers,” D decided. I curled up further into the corner of the couch. “Mhm.” “Because,” he continued, “we wouldn’t … Continue reading A Slippery Slope

Something To Do With Sitting at the Bar

Sitting at the bar is no different from sitting at home. Sitting at the bar is no different from sitting at home, but drunk. Sitting at the bar is no different than sitting at home, but with people. Sitting at the bar is no different than sitting at home. There is another person sitting at home, at the bar, on the end, she is crying. … Continue reading Something To Do With Sitting at the Bar

The President of Massachusetts

We stop at a gas station at the western-most end of west Texas. Everything is in Spanish. It is hot, dry–the kind of heat that never moves except to breathe with you. I stand outside the convenience store looking up at these great towering cylinders and have a cigarette. “Can I?” Someone asks. I turn. A short man with half-broken teeth has his fingers to … Continue reading The President of Massachusetts

The Thousandth Time

Robert walked the main hall of his house; a cape style, blue. Something caught his eye. A picture from his best friend’s bachelor party, years back. He frowned at it, took it off the wall. “What the hell?” He asked the picture. It only continued, stoically, to celebrate. He brought the picture into the kitchen then, hesitantly, picked up the phone. The ringing stopped with … Continue reading The Thousandth Time

Sticky post

The Day my Therapist Dumped Me

I sat on the street outside my therapist’s office smoking a cigarette. The door was locked so I assumed her to be running a bit late. We had seen each other four times. Talked of parents and childhood and sexual repression. The whole shah-bang. Making progress, I suppose. I waited – five past, ten past – a car makes a sharp U-turn and pulls up … Continue reading The Day my Therapist Dumped Me

Three Locks and a Dirty Pink Glove

Why are there three locks on the bathroom door, I wonder, wetting the tips of my fingers so that anyone listening will think I washed my hands. N is sitting, working. “Cigarette?” I ask. He nods. We head outside. It is raining. I look up. “What the hell is this. It has hailed twice, the sun has come out three times, it’s rained four times … Continue reading Three Locks and a Dirty Pink Glove