We’ve skipped over again and are passing the last of a shitty joint back and forth in a studio apartment I haven’t lived in for years, in a town that no longer resembles my memories. It’s a one room cottage twenty feet from a major railroad. Its moldy walls are thinly webbed with ancient cracks and seem to breathe due to the sharp angle of the floor. Pipes with shoddy wiring in them encircle the room and run to a 30 year old furnace that hasn’t worked in ten.
29 March 2007
Serial Short: Part Three
We’ve skipped over again and are passing the last of a shitty joint back and forth in a studio apartment I haven’t lived in for years, in a town that no longer resembles my memories. It’s a one room cottage twenty feet from a major railroad. Its moldy walls are thinly webbed with ancient cracks and seem to breathe due to the sharp angle of the floor. Pipes with shoddy wiring in them encircle the room and run to a 30 year old furnace that hasn’t worked in ten.
28 March 2007
Serial Short: Part Two
25 March 2007
Serial Short: Part One
He saunters by looking lost and shadily hot. I think that if he wandered into one of my stories, he’d be a drifting grifter with mostly repressed homicidal tendencies; just dangerous enough to be the focus of a fantasy. That flutter of fear would be a thrill.
He’d notice me smoking in the parking lot and ask if I knew how to find some obvious and nearby locale; the grocery up the street, perhaps. It’s an easy opening. People are better Samaritans than most would assume when it comes to the little things like that. They feel knowledgeable – like they are better people than they really are – when they help a stranger.
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