delicioustacos

image stolen from raymears.com

Maybe I’ll go outside and write in the park. But I’ll run into the neighbors, who’ll want to have their dog out. The dog who murdered Bud. I’ll have to look at the weird rich hippie woman’s face, his weird rich hippie face, their smug dad’s money organic beets lifestyle. Their stupid kid. I’ll have to look at them and then just come back in and sharpen my axe. Picture laying it right through their pit bull’s spine. Its startled look, dragging itself home on its front legs bleeding out.

I want to kill my neighbors’ dog. And their kid, and them, in that order. Continue reading →

Will the weekend be wasted. I could go out with–- what the fuck is her name again. Colleen. First date since Bud died. It’d be a waste. Before I sleep with a man I make him show me test results, she says. It happens that I carry negative STD papers in my briefcase. But they’re from October. Who have I fucked since then. Angela. Kerry who I choked. Someone else, some other Tinder Asian. But maybe not. Angela existing has relieved my need for women. We text 200 times a day. Me existing hasn’t stopped her from fucking every man in Texas. What can you do. Continue reading →