If I’d put together that the wormy son of a bitch scarcely met Al’s description of the buyer, probably didn’t have a nickel to his name, and likely was, in truth, a vagrant junkie, maybe I wouldn’t have come to in the basement of an abandoned department store, ass going numb on cold linoleum, arms twisted and bound around a support beam. Maybe I wouldn’t have Louisville Slugger tattooed to my scalp, the sickening crack of wood against bone still thundering in my ears. And maybe things wouldn’t have turned into a total clusterfuck. Too many maybes, I know, I know, I conceded to her. Her silence belied her disappointment. Yeah, big surprise, I growled some more, another goddamned wrong turn. She remained cool, though, impassive. …
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The ABV of a bottle of Luxco Everclear is 75.5%. It sounds like a lot, sure. It sounds like a lot more when you’re on your fourth cup of it. You’re drinking this stuff, with its 75.5% ABV, because maybe you just broke up with your girlfriend. That vicious one, the one named after a beer (good luck trying to order a Miller Lite after that). Or maybe, you just got your first failing grade in college, and you don’t know how it happened. You were sure—let’s say, 75.5% sure—that you would pass. You rarely felt like going to class, but you did all the online assignments, and you were there for every test at least. But you failed. Or maybe, it’s the day after your roommates moved out, and you have only a few weeks to find a new place to live.…
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I was on a bus with some old ladies,
driving really fast
because the border was closing.
The bus pulled into an empty lot
surrounded by trees,
and the trees were blown to bits,
and I thought We’ll just have to run for it
to make it through on time.
I ran to the store
to get some bread rolls,
and the store was blown to bits,
and I thought Oh, it has started,
I gotta get those rolls.…
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i haven’t always been upfront with you, esp. when it comes to sex. sure, it’s totally natural, and so what’s there to be embarrassed about, right? well. if you haven’t already guessed, i prefer to keep some things private. or at the very least, just between me and the person i’m sleeping with. still, i set out to tell you the truth about chloë and me, and so and though i can’t say that i’m totally comfortable with what i’m about to tell you, i’m just going to come out and say it, just so you know.
so what now, then, huh?…
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Morning Must-Do List (Day 365 at Painted Rock Creations)
- Wear impenetrable armor to prevent the How-In-The-World-Did-You-Get-This-Job-Managers (HITWDYGTJ-M) from detecting my actual flaws.
- Google what to wear to make walking, sitting, and walking away easier to do when you’re wearing a shield on your body and mind.
- Eat a protein bar (or several) like I am starving during the morning team meeting to stop myself from opening my mouth to say that any intelligent, forward-thinking person would see the HITWDYGTJ-M’s ideas to purchase cheap plastic rocks won’t work.
- Cancel my hair appointment so that my long strands will continue to hide my eyes that roll during meetings.
- Send an email to my boss (and cc myself) that gives him ideas that will work like hiring artists to create templates for new looks, if that’s what they want.
…
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I hate the sea. At school someone said there’s under-ocean canyons deeper than ten cathedrals, full of cold and starving things with mouths that can open wider than their own bodies and fins with glowing bits they use to seek you out. They just stay at the bottom, waiting for drowned things to sink. I can’t imagine going down, down, into the heavy darkness, and watching these little lights getting closer and closer, and knowing what’s behind them. I can’t think of that.
They won’t have missed the lantern in the shop. They’ve got loads of them, cheap things, only paper, with a thin card platform underneath holding a tea-candle. So I don’t feel too guilty about nicking it, even though Mr. and Mrs. Chang are really nice.…
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On my white windowsill
among dainty tea cups,
a ceramic bird house, a
blue and white vase from France,
lies something dead.
As he flew past, for it is an insect,
was he dazzled by these objets
d’art as he sought to free himself
from the confines of the house?
The crane fly is a beauty
has he procreated already?
He lies folded up like an
origami soldier,
diaphanous wings at rest.
A body so slender
you wonder how
all the parts fit inside.…
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