And after much planning they met and went out for dinner and she ordered a kale salad, and he said, You’re totally different from your blog.
Twisters
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The rain comes down in a metaphoric rush. She opens the door to wash away the sadness. He calls for another beer. And then she steps outside.
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She handed me a photo and I studied the face in it and I said, You used to look so different, and she takes it back and says, That’s not me.
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I ordered a pizza. She said, There’s wine in the fridge. She spilled some on her blouse. I said, I’ll do the laundry. She turned into putty.
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Because I asked, What does this one do? and didn’t wait for her answer. Because I was once overly unhappy. Because she smelled like cookies.
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He left his sweatshirt behind and she stared at it, trying to remember him, and she picked it up and took a sniff and then she threw it out.
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He studies her as she sleeps. Even her snoring is graceful. And then it’s not. And then it’s evil. And he searches the floor for his clothes.
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I bought her drink and then I talked about love and she said, Too soon sailor, and I told her I got that all the time and then she felt pity.
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The woods grew thicker; he was obviously lost. He sat on a boulder to think. His past seemed distant now. Though his present kind of sucked.
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I ordered a sandwich and she said, What kind? and I noticed she had something in her teeth so I remained silent because I’d lost my appetite.
