Rasputin was wasted again.
From a couch in the corner, I rubbed my eyes and watched, amazed, as he lifted another bottle and polished it off. He finished with a belch and a rub of his stomach. I downed a healthy hit from my own bottle. “And good morning to you, Father Grigori.” With Rasputin on one of his rages I felt it best to join him.
Even in the feeble morning light, the monk’s deep-set eyes shimmered with intensity. “And tell me. In all your wisdom. What’s good about it?” He knocked over several empties with a swift kick. Staggering from the couch he tripped over Ivan, who was sprawled at his feet. The monk lifted his cassock, and grinning idiotically, pissed on Ivan’s head.…
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When it’s time to end things, I plan to meet my girlfriend at the least respectable bar in town, and once I’ve set a time, I show up twenty minutes late. It’s easier to cut the cord when you start off on the wrong foot. If you can disappoint them before you show your face, they’ll pretty much do the work for you, and the breakup becomes effortless.
The first thing I do, when I strut inside as if I’m right on time, is order two pints at the bar before sliding into the booth where Gillian awaits me. She’s got that raised eyebrow of impatience and sits in a tight posture, as if the discomfort of sitting alone is suffocating her. She doesn’t have a drink in front of her, and I don’t ask if she wants one.…
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Mickey Lennon, lost in thought, stepped off the curb safely into the street. The light, he knew, being solid red- it was red, he recalled, remembering that he noted that distinctly before allowing himself to wander among the thoughts he had himself queued to think- when a honking car went by him. Lunging backward, Mickey sees that the light is green. By the speed of the car, telling him that the car was able to approach the intersection without slowing and that the car didn’t recently transition from a paused state to a moving state, that the light had been green for significant time. Mickey questions the certainty of his life’s certainties. …
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No planes left to fly, for two weeks we of the 21st Pursuit Squadron stumble across Agoloma Bay on shaky legs, our bodies weak from dysentery and a diet of rice mashed with the occasional monkey or lizard. We’ve cleaned out the west coast of the Bataan Peninsula; nights, the Japanese have been trying to clean us out across Bataan’s neck, sending invasion barges along the China Sea and Manila Bay coasts. They’re closer to cracking our front lines every hour. Agoloma Point, Captain Dyess announces one night, back on base at Marivales. Grubby-kneed, he sways, slaps a mosquito from an arm already dotted pink with bites, then the map. There’s about fifty holed up there, plenty of snipers to boot. We gotta strike from behind enemy lines if we’ll have any chance in hell.…
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The truth was not that we were the only ones. It was that we were the last ones: the only ones left.
The whales knew.
In their infinite wisdom, and with characteristic empathy, the whales recognized not only that the doom was upon us humans, but that they had the ability not to stop it but to mitigate its effects. In a world of growing despair and certainty of the end of all, the whales realized that they of all creatures had the ability to be harbingers of joy to those whose world-weary civilization was about to collapse upon itself.
Enthralled, shouting with delight, the passengers on the Queen of Capilano ferry in Howe Sound watched in wonder as two humpbacks breached in tandem; just the week before, other commuters had witnessed a pod of orcas frolicking in the blue-green waves. …
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He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep. Suddenly waking – choking on some saliva that slid down his windpipe. He rolls clumsily off the sofa and lands hard on the threadbare shag carpeting on all fours.
Struggling to breathe through his nose while at the same time barking hoarsely in an effort to expel the slime trail of drool invading his trachea.
Once he stops coughing. Catching his breath. Aware of the strange click coming from the phonograph console, a relic from the 1970s that had belonged to Jennifer. It was one of the few possessions she had brought into their lives when they moved in together in the late 80s.
He remembers now that he’d been listening to The Very Best of Loretta Lynn.…
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Jack and I sat like gods on nice, flat chair-sized rocks right outside the mouth of the mine shaft. We looked down and watched the two idiots hop across the mossy creek stones. Sure enough, the fat one slipped and landed on his butt. I looked at Jack. He shook his head, took a short nip out of the pint bottle, and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans. I didn’t consider that to be a safe place to store a glass bottle, especially when you’re inside a mountain, mining gold. My little brother isn’t as smart as me though.
The idiots finally made it across the creek and started climbing up the slag pile. They didn’t look like much, but that’s what you get when you recruit your help out of the Crazy Horse Saloon.…
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