Tagged: Guys (1,814)

He sees the traffic but doesn’t quite comprehend it. The enormity of it. The cacophony of honking horns. I wish I was wearing pants, he says

And the end was near. He saw the signs. In his endless thirst for bourbon. In the smell emanating from his body. In the way he said “mommy.”

He painted the walls blue. He sat alone in his room drinking Irish whiskey. He loved his Samantha Fox posters and didn’t pay the phone bills

He’s short and the cut of his suit makes him appear much shorter. He admits to depression these days. I’d jog if I weren’t so lazy, he says.

Whenever I talk I hurt someone, he says. And because he believes this he sews his mouth shut. Until he gets hungry and he can’t even scream.

He dreamt that he’d drowned and then been saved and been revived via mouth to mouth by a pretty blond. He wakes up. And so goes to the beach

The four boys stood on the bridge throwing pebbles into the waters. Then they threw rocks. Then boulders. And then the smallest boy himself.

The news hits him with the force of a cannon ball. He stands there lost, wondering how he’ll live now. Without the neighborhood strip joint.

He was unsentimental about death. So he missed the pageantry of mourning, the catharsis of it. It also meant he ate more donuts at funerals.