2024-07-02
Part of Night's Longing
3233 words (16 minutes)
As the two of us wait outside the restaurant for the valet to bring her car around, Carmen produces a small case from inside her jacket. She removes a cigarette, hand-rolled by the looks of it, and extends her arm to offer me the option of taking one.
2024-06-21
Part of Night's Longing
2430 words (12 minutes)
When I was 15 years old, my father killed the first girl I ever loved.
2022-12-02
711 words (4 minutes)
She tells me that she needs to watch herself, that she has a bad habit of pushing boundaries, especially when she’s been drinking.
I smile. I tell her how her self-awareness is reassuring, how safe she makes me feel.
I keep topping off her glass.
2022-10-10
497 words (2 minutes)
I plan for only a brief visit at your house. I have places to go, but somehow you’ve talked me into staying for dinner. For drinks. For drugs. And now it’s so late, and I’m in an unfamiliar place…
2022-08-29
259 words (1 minute)
She’s so fucking infuriatingly vain, isn’t she? Whatever the topic, whatever the context, she thinks everything is about her. And if you try to make it about anyone else? She’ll find a way to twist it right back around to herself.
You can’t stand her.
2022-08-13
1018 words (5 minutes)
A bar isn’t home. It doesn’t feel like home; it can’t be home. That’s obvious, though, isn’t it? Hardly an observation worth stating at all except to call attention to just how far from home it feels.
2022-08-06
339 words (2 minutes)
Something in this androgynous creature’s eyes captivates me. It draws me in, inviting me to say hi and strike up a conversation.
“What are your pronouns?” I ask, after they introduce themselves, trying to be polite.
“We/us/our,” is the response.
2022-03-08
727 words (4 minutes)
The spider isn’t Real, of course. You won’t find it in your bathtub, nor in your kitchen, nor in the shadowy corners of your poorly-lit basement. You won’t clean any web it doesn’t leave up attached to your ceiling.
It lives in your dreams.