I bought a shirt. She said, Why’d you buy that shirt? I defended the dignity of my purchase. Perhaps a bit too aggressively. Now I’m lonely.
Twisters
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I drop my backpack, and fall on top of it. I don’t know what to do, I admit. She takes out the map, again, because she knows it will bug me.
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I fell for her in a painful manner. You’re about to make an awful decision, she predicted. I love you enough to ruin our families, I replied.
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He was a homely child who grew into a handsome man and held a noble job, who always wore leather chaps, and preferred his cakes under baked.
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He was a homely child who grew into a handsome man and held a noble job, who always wore leather chaps, and preferred his cakes under baked.
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Everyone is hungry; the grumbling has turned to revolt. Good things take time, I say. The noise dies down. While my wife can’t stop laughing.
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I build up the courage and call her. And tell the truth, which isn’t a great move. I admit this also. Have I earned your respect yet? I ask.
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You’re like that hotel, vacant and frumpy, I tell her. She appears hurt. You’re like that, she says. Pointing to a dead bug on the sidewalk.
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Is there a line between necessary and annoying? It’s not a good thing that I’m thinking about this. But I do. I think about it all the time.
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She escaped the safety of the water and stood confidently on the shore and she waited for him. But he wasn’t ready for her. None of him was.
