old enough to drink, not old enough to be decent enough to attempt to give a shit. you, me.

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?

i threw a rock at a bird once. it didn’t hit it but i felt bad anyway because it could be a parent. that’s like running over a single mother with a semi.

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.

things i don’t know how to feel about so i use nouns that have nothing to do with anything

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.

love rodent

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.