I took the candy and the baby cried and my wife said, So you would, and I said, Babies are too young for candy, because my wife is a dentist.
Twisters
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Our eyes met and in at that moment I believed in destiny and then I waited for her to walk over to me but she didn’t. And my ankle was sore.
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I sensed her annoyance, even over the phone. It’s just words, she said. I can come over, I offered. She laughed. For the first time in days.
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She grunts and gets out of bed. He sees the complaint forming on her lips. He says, I never said I was perfect. She says, You did yesterday.
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I will stand at this bar, this wooden bar with stainless steel details, and it will make me desirable, and I will succeed and not be lonely.
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The car is airborne now, and approaching the side of a quaint stone house. He can hear her screaming on his phone. It was worth it, he yells.
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Things got contentious and she called me a big fat jerk and then I returned to my office and felt bad because I’d put on some pounds lately.
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The water streams over him, drawing him to his awakening. He reaches for the soap, but it’s a nub. That’s two nubs in the shower, he thinks.
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That was fun but not life changing, she says. So he downsizes his own modest expectations. And lumbers toward a conclusion. And finds peace.
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The office is dark. Empty. He finishes his report and laughs; the thing is garbage. He trudges home. Hunting the mammoths of his imagination.
