paisleybrew
Her fingers were drenched, she coughed, slipping one into my mouth. I sucked for a moment, but the taste was off. I pulled away.
"Hey," she mumbled over her scotch.
"Sorry, you've been smoking way too much."
I got up to find my pants.
"Smells good."
"Thanks. Worked all night on it."
"All night?"
"Yeah, since I got home about... 6."
"You got home at 6?"
"Yeah."
"6pm. Like, today."
"Yeah, why? What's the-"
"I was here at six, you fucking liar."
"I could smash his face in," the priest offered.
"No. Not that. Keep his face intact. They have to identify the body before we can collect the reward."
"Well, fuck all. I really wanted to smash his face in."
"This will fuck you up."
Damian marched around the room, barely able to contain himself. He waved my manuscript about like a field hockey stick.
"Seriously, is this how you think?"
I nursed my scotch. Of course it was. But I couldn't tell him that.
"You gotta get your mind out of the gutter, man. Let's hit the town."
There is no you. There is no me. This doesn't exist. These words were never here. It's all a figment of your imagination. Electrical impulses flying through matter. What you perceive will only be a short burst of experience in comparison to the existence of the rest of time and space.
That kid is like a fucking camel. Just drinks and drinks and drinks for hours on end. And throughout the week? Not another sip. Not a single sip any other time than that one day, just storing it all, riding it out through the rest of the week. Right up until it's time to drink again.
I smacked him upside the head. He dropped his magazine and I put my foot on it. He reached down to grab it, but I wasn't giving up his copy of Highlights that easily.
"You know the trouble with you, Travis?" Took a drag off my cigarette that I blew right into his five-year-old eyes. "You keep solving the hidden images before I get a crack at it."
"It's simple. You make the incision..."
His fingers trailed down her stomach, over her thigh, and right to the point where her legs joined.
"..Here."
And in went the blade.
"Really? You're going to wear that?"
"Yeah. Really."
"Jesus. Just... fucking Christ, really?"
"You don't have to be a dick about it."
"Yeah, I do. I really do when I'm gonna be seen in public with you. Fuck."
"You know what? Fuck off."
Sometimes I want to crush his little face. I'd like it to be smeared under foot, my foot, all across the pavement. And with the bits of his smiling muscles trailing behind, I would walk into the nearest bodega and buy a Pepsi, taking in this glorious fucking moment to appreciate what I've done for myself.
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the words you reach for
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