Last night, she’d asked me to be honest for once. This morning, I told her I didn’t like her shoes. Tomorrow, she will call me too negative.
Tagged: Home (473)
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Then the rain started to enter the house, and she said, I thought you promised to fix the roof, and I said, When’s the last time we had sex?
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We sold our possessions. We vacated the house room by room, a past sold off to purchase a future. We were hopeful, but no longer house proud.
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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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The dawn broke and lit up the dust floating through the house. I said, Look at this filth. She turned away and said, It’s always your fault.
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Then I got up and farted. The guests laughed. My wife said, You’re impossible! I knew she meant it. The others thought she was being loving.
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Years went by, and their bed felt smaller and smaller, until it felt like a coffin, and one day she said, You’re killing me, and he knew it.
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The car comes to a stop and idles in front of my house. It’s a red car, shiny, low to the ground. My cell rings. It’s not good news. For me.
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We were fighting about fighting a lot. I had started sleeping on the couch. The air in the house reeked of decay. The dogs seemed sad lately.
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The deer crap all over the yard. He thinks of the dollars he’s already spent. And for what? For deer shit. Too bad I hate venison, he thinks.
