she’s 21 years old and argues over who sits in the front.
“we should have a rotation—it’s not fair.”
it’s her child and i don’t want to sit with him.
“i don’t like your music. you never put it on something we ALL like.”
how’s that psychology class coming for you?
the animals in children’s movies talk to each other. they make noises and they understand. the kids think they are really talking to each other so they go outside and find some animal, maybe a cat, and make noises at it and get attacked and decide that they did it wrong. the parents get upset at the movie and ban it and anything like it from their home, so movies like pocahontas and dr. dolittle lose revenue. the cat goes home has sex with its wife and talks about the little kid he scratched up and eddie murphy.
hope is some man waiting in a line at a gas pump for an hour because the prices are good only to find that the gas he prefers is out of order. his car cuts off because the needle was on e anyway. he stands in another line between two vehicles as he holds a gas container in his hands, nodding at other motorist because “standing” in line for gas is the normal thing to do or because his car is blocking the pump from people who use the gas he doesn’t. once he’s finished filling his plastic gallon container, he jogs in the way that men in business suits jog to places back to his car, not wanting to explain to the man in the pickup with his middle finger pointed at him why he didn’t use the pump near his car. he pulls off after tipping each drop into his tank. it feels like a going away party because everyone’s watching him leave and no one feels any different about anything.
i’m running my thumb nail across the trackpad through bits of skin flakes and eyelashes to see if the mouse will move. it doesn’t. no, my computer is not a dirty thing. i’ve just finished clawing at my face. there should be enough soft tissue under my nails to make the mouse move.
i don’t understand.
does it really matter if there are “hundreds of tiny germs” on your soap pump if you are going to wash your hands anyway? i mean no disrespect to those who worry about things as that, this is a serious question. one which will, most likely, go unanswered.
toes stuck in the swampy sand, little waves beating against our shins. you reach down into the earth and pull out a fistful of sand. shit, you say and into my face it went. in the distance the sun was lowering itself into the ocean like a hot bath and people were packing up their children into little eco-friendly boxes as they screeched for more time.
when the sun sets, it goes into the ocean and it sits on the sand at the bottom and waits for the moon to leave. while it waits it holds conversations with sharks and octopi about who’s the deadliest overall as they drink to pluto and the last test monkey the sun consumed.
the sun returns glowing, impregnated with satisfaction. we are there at the edge of the water, our toes over the sand. the children are released into the water where they frolic and gag on salt water. a starfish washes onto your foot. you stick it on my chest. shit, you say.
if i quote myself, i feel less responsible for what i’d said.
i see a lot of pictures. usually people are in the dark, flash function bouncing from their faces, smiling.
i’m never in the dark smiling about anything with anyone. there’s never anyone to take pictures either — the camera’s always broken.
i want to make a joke in the dark and take a picture of people laughing then put it somewhere for people to see.
mostly to prove that it’s not something that i’m not able to do.
just not something happy, cheery people do.
my nephew whimpers and whines when he’s standing at the entrance to the kitchen on the other side of the baby gate. when i close my eyes he sounds like a goat. sometimes a pterodactyl. then he grows long, hairy ears and wings and flies into the kitchen. but poorly. he’s just a baby and no one’s taught him to fly yet.
