Tuesday, July 26, 2011

"This porch, this deck. These drinks and trees. These things are more real than anything else you will experience."


They stared at the angel, hand in hand, as it's gigantic figure slowly sank beneath the tide's onrush.


She dove, teeth gritted, eyes open behind her sunglasses; fists connected and the volley ball arc'd up, to be windmill slammed down for a point by her teammate a moment later. She helped her up, "Good save," she said.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

"I can't feel my feet any more."

"That's okay, we can replace feet. Just make sure your fingers and ears don't go numb on you. Those are much harder to replace."

"Why is that?"

So he explained to his daughter the simple history of nerve reintegration, and how balance was a mechanical issue, but touch and hearing were a spiritual issue, and harder to recreate.

He said, "Some people get lucky, and have their replacement fingers or ears work just fine, but it isn't a risk I want you to take."

"Can you rub my ears, please, then?" She asked.

And he smiled, and he did; secretly hoping he wasn't pressing too hard with his unfeeling hands.

Monday, July 18, 2011

They shook hands, smiled at each other with good intention, but neither saw the other, ever again.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

The storm picked up, and her French window curtains booga-booga'ed at us, the candles blew out. Thunder rolled through the true beatnik throwback apartment, rattling our wine glasses.

She asked, "So, what universe would you live in?" Lightning blinded us, hid me from her infinite, unreadable eyes.

Monday, July 11, 2011

She tried to coax the manatee from the ledge of the empire state building.

"No," he said, whiskers waving in the wind, "I have polyps, I will die like this instead."

Friday, July 8, 2011

He awoke three years later, gaunt, freshly shaven. The nurse smiled at him, avoided conversation about families, focused on how glad she was he was finally awake.

"Am I, though?" He asked.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

"Your pants are too tight!" she yelled with a smile; strobe lights catching her plush sneer-to-grin in broad strokes. He laughed, too, the both of them jumping to the beat, her body a collision of scintillating, stolen, late night pay per views from his teens.