I can feel sweat beginning to form on satin that is jammed into my underarm. I’m pissed but this is inevitable. I’m a person who is prone to sweating and Bonnie had to pick motherfucking satin. To be fair, I’m not sure there’s a fabric that would escape my body temperature regulation, but this one… Continue reading Holy Matrimonial Hell.
Tag: fiction
Penny’s for your thoughts…
It’s so goddamn hot outside. The kind of hot where it’s hard to think straight. I knew this and tried to be thoughtful about my outfit and still, there’s little that can be managed in this kind of heat. I’ve learned that even the lightest black or white cotton will betray you, showing slivers of… Continue reading Penny’s for your thoughts…
The Shortest Long Beach.
Christine looks around, trying to remember what it was like when this space felt joyful. She felt so goddamn lucky when she got this apartment. A godsend. Inexpensive, great location. Sure, the traffic sound was a little intense at first, but that faded in time. The first time she saw the apartment, she was awestruck.… Continue reading The Shortest Long Beach.
Did you read about Kohen?
Did you read about Kohen Wiley? I ask. Who? Danny replies. Kohen Wiley, I say, more emphatically, as if that might change her answer. This is absurd, I recognize. I was in the neurologist’s office yesterday and a woman was there with her elderly mother, and she was doing exactly what I’m doing now. Her… Continue reading Did you read about Kohen?
Hot Mess Express.
My brain tracks the bead of sweat as it travels from the nape of my neck, down my spine, and finds a home in the lower region of my thin cotton tank. The dampness of my tank is almost indistinguishable from the veritable pool I’ve accumulated by the waist of my skirt. I press my… Continue reading Hot Mess Express.
A Hairy Situation.
I stare at the piece of hair. I’ve seen so many pieces of my hair detached from my head over the years. Curly, dyed strands wrapped around stubborn hair elastics and plastic nubbed brush bristles. But now, I gaze at the long, dark wet strand plastered to my tiled shower wall. It feels complete in… Continue reading A Hairy Situation.
The Ick.
I paused before writing this piece. I hesitated for a variety of reasons. It wasn’t some feeling of embarrassment connected to the admission that I watch reality television. It’s not a staple for me, but I certainly haven’t shied away from it, either. Why? Oh, well, likely for the same reasons everyone else watches it.… Continue reading The Ick.
Franz.
There’s a moment where I’m staring at the Zoom icon and then suddenly, his face fills the screen. I take him in in bits and pieces. Round tortoiseshell plastic framed glasses, broad forehead, full lips formed into a semi-frown and sweat dotting his hair line. I instantly wonder if he’s just come from some activity… Continue reading Franz.
Tilda.
I’m studying her profile in a way that would be obvious if she weren’t driving. Maybe it’s obvious anyway, but she’s not the kind to acknowledge, not in that way. Her skin is still perfect. I don’t think they use the expression peaches and cream anymore, but if they did, if I did, this would… Continue reading Tilda.
Sorry, Sarah.
I pause and kick the broken asphalt just in front of the filthy right toe of my Asics. I need to change to a new pair, but I’m resistant because it’s still such shitty weather. Almost there, I think. Fucking asshole, I say into the foggy early morning air. What is bubbling inside of me… Continue reading Sorry, Sarah.
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