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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

I cooked for her. This signalled my intentions in the most obvious way. She loved the meal. Why can’t you do this in bed? she asked politely.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

They argued about the day of the week. We’re incompatible, he sighed. And she kissed him. I think it’s the opposite, she said, towelling off.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

The days are long now. Hard. His life feels like a bucketful of lonely. A tundra of hollow. And so this is how he commits to the comb-over.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

We’re walking. She walks. Everywhere. It’s as if she doesn’t know cars exist. Can we take a break? I ask. Now everything makes sense to her.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

Another procedure. Your face is so malleable, I tell her as she pours some wine. Just like your personality, she says. Then our story began.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

The hat was too tight. It hurt his head to wear it. But it looked damn cool. He bought it. And suffered brain damage. A culling of the herd.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

He comes home with a double sausage pizza, just as she comes downstairs in her new neglige. Hi, she says. Don’t make me choose, he whimpers.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

He slides off her and she punches him. That’s the best I can do, he sighs. And she mocks him. Hard. He knows he deserves it. He always does.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

We had a fight. She said, Your weakness is getting stronger. I bit into a banana. I liked you better when you were socially awkward, I said.

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By Arjun Basu | Published: June 1, 2013

This store smells like a diaper bin. They sell old cheeses, she tells me. She’s mesmerized by the odor. We’ll probably never have sex again.

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