People, you need to work, dollars don’t grow on fauna, you need to labor, and then, maybe, we can have the lady in the cake for my birthday.
Twisters
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Then she asked, Can we still be friends? She knew it would never be enough for me. Buy me a Volvo? I asked. It was an equally silly question.
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You move the earth, I tell her, trying to be poetic, more romantic, and then we feel an earthquake, both of us do, so now I’m afraid of her.
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They are both far from home. He orders a last drink. I have kids, he says. So do I, she replies. They watch the TV behind the bar. Dreaming.
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We were exhausted from the incessant arguing. So I said, Let’s go on a trip. We booked tickets. We planned. Only to argue in a foreign land.
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The day is bright with possibility. I slather her back with lotion. The ocean roars beyond the dunes. I’m closed for business, she tells me.
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She opens the door. He says, You’ve lost weight. She looks away. I’ve been ill, she says. He wants to die now. Do you have a knife? he asks.
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I tell her my story. I admit to embellishment, but only for their entertainment value. Because I’m a giver. You’re also a liar, she tells me.
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I’m ribald, I tell her and she pours her drink on my head and says, Two letters off, and I call my Renaissance lit teacher and he has a lark.
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It’s too early in the season for flip flops, he says, throwing a sock in anger. We just became a couple, she beams. And he studies his toes.
