Author: admin

Sleepy, he yawned and rolled over. A thin stream of sunlight across his barren floor, he’s sleeping on a straw mat.

One liners and a lot of cheese, that’s what it is. Maybe it’s the cheese, that sharp cheddar cheese, going to his head, like alcohol, but no quite.

He liked Scooby-Doo, was a good show. Yeah, it was a pretty good show. Whatever happened to stuff like that? Stuff he’s starting to miss now, stuff that he had before, stuff he took for granted. Like freedom and liberty and a talking cartoon dog of yesteryear.

The Cartographer

Sometimes, when he stands, there’s emptiness, an inability to breathe, suffocation winding like a thin wire around his neck, his lungs crushed under some obscure weight, eyes bulging and hands clawing at the space around him. And then, he closes his eyes, the air starts to flow, rippling across the open water, a salty

He kissed her, in the aftermath of their argument, a rash, passionate kiss, had no idea where it came from. She took well to the whole affair, no idea why that was so either. Her hair smelled like peaches, lovely, lovely ripe peaches in a summer breeze. And he just stood there for a while, smelling peaches, tasting honey and the emptiness that occasionally accompanied her kisses, not sure if he wanted the emptiness. His arm resting in the curve of her back

“Both of them died in the end! Both of them!” Coffee cup in the air and waving, warm, brown liquid on the verge of spilling forth, he continues, gesticulating, “I can’t believe they’d do this me, a devout viewer of all five seasons, even that disastrous,” a pause, “thing they called a third season.” Downs half the scalding drink, enjoying the bitterness of black coffee with a cheap diner aftertaste, trudges on with his rants, “You know, I mean, you know what I mean! The ending was tragic, terrible, waste of time, ruined everything.” Dark green eyes annoyed, brows furrowed in vexation and irritation, as if the mere idea were a fly, buzzing incessantly, driving him to the point of madness. He finally placed the cup back on the counter with a sigh of indignant resignation, nothing he could about it, any of it. Not just the damned, criminal ending to his favorite show this season, but the pieces of his life, drifting away in a small creek of rainwater and city filth dribbling by a sidewalk gutter, ink splotches in rain, goddamn it all to hell. Picks up the paper cup with disgust, downs another sip, realizes that it’s not even liquor he’s drowning himself in, can’t afford liquor, that’s what it is, defers to coffee, cheap, weak, tasteless coffee. Rainy afternoon, talking to some poor bystander in his life, probably wasn’t even listening to him babble, probably thinks he’s a freak, probably. Oh fucking well, “I can’t believe these people! Both of them! What was the point?” He asks, almost shouting, slams the cup, a drop of coffee on the counter, a drop of coffee on his pants, a drop of coffee on the beige overcoat of the poor bystander in his life. He grunts an apology with a sidelong glance, mumbles to himself, shrivels like a prune to a hunched position over the counter. End of that embarrassing situation, sometimes he surprises even himself with his silly antics. Lost one too many marbles, anybody there to help him pick them up, the silly pieces of glass, memories of his unfortunate childhood, scattered liked leaves in the wind on the floor of his empty mind. A hand on his shoulder, he turns to look, some poor bystander in his life, beige overcoat, brown, chocolate curls lapping at his face as she bends down and kisses him, light and sweet, ephemeral, turns and leaves, stilettos and the sway of her hips, taste of sugar and eminent death. And so, death it is.