It rained through the night and early morning, tearing the petals from the lilies in the garden. They lay on the ground like pieces of satin tinged with rust. The sky looked bruised, as if it had more crying to do. Anita stood in the kitchen looking out at the day through the screen of the back door. The thin lines of mesh made everything appear slightly out of focus.
Genre: Fiction
Thoroughbred
I want to eat in the kind of Chinese food restaurant you find in small northern Ontario towns. Restaurants with names like “Lucky Moon” or “Sun Palace” or whatever. I want the red sauce on chicken balls and a fork, no option of chopsticks, that kind of place.
Bats or Swallows
“My teeth,” Frances said. “They fall out of my mouth when I speak. They’re falling and I keep spitting them out like they’re cherry pits, but no one says anything about it. You were there once, and you ignored it, but I think you kicked a tooth away when it landed too close to your foot. You were barefoot.
Coming up Short
I was walking downtown with my lady, it was midday, we had a few drinks in us by that time, and as we were crossing the street, birds chirping and engines revving, this asshole in a black Firebird, overly excited to make a right turn, almost takes off both of our fucking ankles.
Picnic
The city was a marshmallow of sticky smog and I wanted out. I carried bags loaded with beach towels and sandwiches down the front steps while George checked the oil of the old car. I had to step around a couple of languid coffee drinkers who’d spilled out of the café on the corner and made themselves comfortable on our stairs. Everyone was in my way.
Mariner’s Trance
The dog, Spirit, came up from the cove looking like he’d been walking through tar. His eyes were still mirthful, though closing toward one of his late-afternoon naps. Nestor didn’t [More…]