symphonic
At Thanksgiving he shared a table with five drug addicts, a murderer, and a pedophile. A cakewalk compared to maximum security, he said. In max he watched guys get stabbed and raped and shit on. All these horrors stories but I'm supposed to nod and smile when my mom says he's still my kid brother and we should be thankful he's safe?
With shaky hand he reached for the top; this last card, laid just right, would be enough to prove to his Dad that he could finish what he started. He wasn’t a failure, after all. Thirty-three hours of intense focus and this three-deck card house was proof of that.
He smiled as he thought about what his father would say, and his concentration broke. As he swayed forward his free hand swiped at the middle of the cards. The house shuddered, leaned to the left, and he watched his triumph land at his feet.
When she slapped the cash on the table, I swallowed hard. I couldn’t believe my ears when she asked me to be her lover for the weekend. I was convinced she was joking, but between us sat two thick wads of hundreds, tied tight with yellow yarn. Her eyes were on me as I ran the numbers in my head.
“You say you’re eighty?”
“Eighty years young.” she whispered, and her head leaned close to mine.
He was the guy with the cast on his arm
signed by a hundred classmates
perched against the back of the chair
looking for his next trip
skyward
i am not leading anyone else into temptation.
probably.