Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Rutina Diaria
Gets out of bed to turn off the alarm clock. Hovers briefly in front of the computer before leaving for the shower. Stands naked in front of wardrobe and thinks about how she needs to put in a few more miles because her thighs are too fat. Get dressed. Eat yogurt. Brush teeth. Foundation, concealer, powder, shadow, liner, mascara, perfume, lip gloss. Go to class and focus on the text book. El libro de texto. Eat lunch at the counter without making eye contact with anyone else in the cafeteria.
Talk about the Holocaust in afternoon class. Watch last night's TV shows on Hulu while nibbling on her 24 daily almonds (exactly one ounce for protein and essential fats). Homework in front of the fireplace listening to Cream on headphones that only play through the right ear. Make a mental note to buy new ones. Forget. Dinner with friends. More homework. Facebook while staying offline. Bed with a well-loved copy of The Authoritative Calvin and Hobbes. Smile. Sleep.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Make-Believe
When I was little, I would play pretend where
I was the girlfriend of an old bank robber
Not old-old, but old school.
20's, 30's
(age inappropriate? nah...)
I'd know exactly where the money comes from
and I wouldn't care.
Cause I'd be wrapped up in
fine clothes
champagne
long cigarettes
jewels weighing heavily on my throat.
My man would love me passionately,
and if anyone so much as looked at me...
Snap.
And a bullet between the eyes.
Sometimes he'd get jealous,
but he'd always put up with it
cause he loved to watch me walk in those dresses.
In return -
I'd stay by his side forever.
Sitting in the passenger seat of his fabulous car
except when he was working
of course.
I'd never give him up to the cops.
We'd be famous, rich,
happy,
and in love.
Always in love.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Mittens
“Hey”
“…”
“…Or not.”
“Huh? Were you talking to me?”
“Well yeah, I just…”
“…”
“You’re wearing mittens.”
“…How very insightful”
“It’s just not something you see every day”
“…”
“Cause most people prefer gloves”
“…”
“Can’t say I understand why really, I mean, it’s not like these people are WWI snipers who need their
fingers spaced so they can do something dexterous. These are just normal people, wandering around the city, maybe carrying a few bags or something but it’s not like you need fingers for that.”
“…”
“…”
“What if they have to dial their phones?”
“Huh?”
“The glove people, what if they have to dial their phones, they’d need fingers for that, right?”
“Oh… yeah…”
“What?”
“Nothing, I just… thought I was annoying you.”
“You were.”
“Oh”
“But I figured someone ought to correct you of your bias against glove-wearers”
“So… I’m not annoying you?”
“Oh, you are.”
“Oh.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Here.”
“What is it?”
“What does it look like?”
“A pink sticky note?”
“…”
“With a phone number… I thought you said I was annoying?”
“I did.”
“Oh.”
“But you’re the first guy I’ve ever met who tried to pick me up by talking about mittens, so I figure that’s
worth coffee.”
“Wow. I can’t believe that worked.”
“…”
“…”
“Is this your bus?”
“Yeah, yours?”
“Yep.”
“So… are you getting on?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“My jeans are frozen to the bench.”
“Oh. That sounds like quite the predicament.”
“It really is.”
“Would you like some help?”
“Nah, I’m good. It’ll thaw eventually.”
“Oh, alright then.”
“…”
“…”
“I thought this was your bus?”
“It was”
“So why are you sitting back down?”
“Where I was going wasn’t as important as keeping a pretty girl company while she waits for her butt to
defrost.”
“That’s… oddly sweet.”
“I know.”
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