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.
Tag: fiction
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.
I like her teaching, too.
Melissa pats her caramel highlighted curls which perfectly fan out around her chartreuse fleece ear warmer. It’s unquestionably more expensive than the shitty Amazon purchased one I jammed on my head this morning. She is clearly uncomfortable. It wasn’t intentional on my part- to make her uneasy, but that’s also a part of me so… Continue reading I like her teaching, too.
Happy Galantine’s Day, Devi.
I’ve named her Devi because she closely resembles a woman I knew in college. Her hair is jet black and the kind of wavy I admire-frizz free and giving off curling iron feels. I know she didn’t though, use a hair tool. It’s just her hair. I know that in the subconscious way she keeps… Continue reading Happy Galantine’s Day, Devi.
The Antidote to Hate.
She is ambling down the sidewalk-her baby legs reminding me of one of those dogs that can either be walked or placed comfortably in a purse. Her leggings are cranberry colored, and the puffer jacket that makes her diminutive frame look only slightly bigger than a minute, is something akin to fuchsia, but it works.… Continue reading The Antidote to Hate.
Freeballing into the afterlife.
I wrap my hand around the glass, the beading condensation cool under my finger pads. Some of the Tajin rim is now coating the top of my pointer finger. I bring it to my mouth before I think better of it and then, realize my mistake and swipe it on the cloth napkin resting on… Continue reading Freeballing into the afterlife.
Big dreams. Dream big.
I started to write something very specific for this week. I was going to write a little more about grief. And then, I was going to write about some of the bat sh*t stuff that’s been going on around these parts. And then, yesterday happened. And it was so magical that I don’t want to… Continue reading Big dreams. Dream big.
thepathtoworthy.com 