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What’s Out There

30 Jul

house

Three years later he still looked at her Facebook. Once every six months. Violet. She was in a relationship. Formally engaged or not was hard to tell. That section of About Me was blank. She’d had to look available for her career. Often key decision makers were still men.

But they went on trips together. Resorts insulated from global unrest. Engaged in all but name. The fiance had been a photographer. Now Creative Director for a lifestyle brand famously run by a DisruptHer/ She-EO. His early work made it look like he fucked the models. You don’t become a photographer to take pictures. She still worked for the ad agency. An early adopter of La Croix. No doubt they’d moved on past pamplemousse, an apres-garde flavor.

She was still beautiful. When he felt bad enough he’d stop looking. Continue reading

Belinda

6 Jul

Are you surprised I’m here, said Belinda. Mexican girls don’t date white boys. Au contraire, he said, I’ve had every one in town but you. Not the real ones, she said. I bet their parents spoke English.

She’d fucked her tattoo artist for three years. He was 44, married, someone snitched to the wife who then called Belinda’s mother. I want you to know your daughter’s a whore, she said. I’m going to tell your whole family. I’m going to go around your neighborhood, tell everybody. She did.

The tattoo artist came in her every time. She thought she couldn’t get pregnant. He said he’d meet her when she got the abortion. He posted on Instagram from a bar instead. He had eight other women he was sleeping with. The wife still doesn’t know.

When she finished the story he went to move her hair to kiss her. And she said: not on the first date.

The God of the Mockingbirds

17 Jun

IMG_2283

In February the mockingbird had to start singing. He woke up the whole neighborhood.

When the sunlight was long enough a part of his brain grew. It made him listen to other birds’ songs around him. He’d memorize them. Then perch up as high as he could go. Yell them as loudly as he could. He wanted to do this like he wanted to breathe. There were about five kinds of birds that sang in the neighborhood. Sparrows. He’d sing their five songs over and over. Continue reading

Angel of the Morning

27 May
SA color

image: seekingarrangement.com

Previously:

What Do You Do

Nest Egg

Second Date

No Exit

The Zombie Zone

His buddy told him: try Seeking Arrangement. I put that I’m worth two million. I take them to a sushi place. But not one where the chef doesn’t let you order. Middle income place; I tell them I don’t have time for courtship. Too busy. With what they don’t ask. I tell them before we set an allowance I have to sample the goods. Easy pussy.

Continue reading

Finally, Some Good News (Part 4)

19 Feb

Previously:

What Do You Do

Nest Egg

Second Date

No Exit

**********

The Zombie Zone

Marcy Pendergrass was putting up the Halloween decorations. The one hot girl in the office. He’d been promoted but his cubicle was the same. Gray desk behind a gray wall five feet high. She held two rolls of fake police tape with cartoon letters. Do you want the vampire zone or the zombie zone, she asked. Continue reading

The Unicorn

8 Jan
unicorn-with-flowers

image stolen from the unicorn gallery at http://piecesofmyheart.org/

He lived alone. It had been years now. Women liked him once but these days he couldn’t get a Tinder match.

One night he went to smoke a cigarette in the park. There was rustling in the sumac bushes. Something screaming; he ran to see what it was. Three coyotes had something pinned. It looked like a white pony, or maybe a giant goat. Some slave animal for Mexican kids’ outdoor birthday parties. Whatever it was it was terrified. The coyotes had clocked him but they were intent enough that he could get close to the big one. Give it a hard boot in the ribs. It was something he’d always dreamed of. Just as he’d dreamed, he felt a rib crack and the thing squealed and ran. The other two, toadies that they were, did too. Continue reading

Finally, Some Good News (Part 3)

24 Dec

I want to suck your cock, she said. They were in her son’s bedroom. The boy was about 12 and he was sleeping. And I want you to suck my cock, he said. But he didn’t. They’d been doing coke for 90 minutes. It was cold in her house. He could feel his dick like a slimy canned mushroom.

He let her kneel down and take it out from his too tight pants and his day glo pink American Apparel underwear. There it was: a blue acorn. Her mouth was warm but there was a little coke in her spit and it made him feel like her tongue was wearing a medical glove. Listen, he said. let’s wait for this bump to wear off. We can talk. Continue reading