fiction

the taste out of peanut butter

The baseball moon hangs luminously over the windshield. Once, maybe months ago, you would have smiled up and whistled to that craterous face. But everything, even whistling, feels exhausting now. You join the stream of cars on Main Street and set your teeth forward, as if you could deafen the rush of a happy, autumnal world on the cobblestoned sidewalks–sweatered university students, clutching freshly-carved pumpkins, clutching each other–by clenching your jaw. As if you could deafen your thoughts.

Then you are there. Sooner than you want, not soon enough. And even as you think it, you know it is not Time being unfair but you. It’s just that there is so much unfair, it’s hard to keep it from rubbing off on you. Continue reading

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biovignette

schoolspeak: things you hear from the hall

“Feel sorry for me. I fall in love with jerks and bearded guys and men who want to keep me skinny.”

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“I don’t know what the Stock Market is.”

“You want me to explain the whole Stock Market to you right now?” (he said snottily)

~

Fertile is a bad word to use there.”

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We live in a world of conspiracy! See? Morticians have never done anything about drunk driving!”

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“We’re in this art museum. It’s gorgeous. Solid stuff, you know. Real deep… Then suddenly I notice the little dinosaurs. They’re literally everywhere. In the corners…next to the painting, beside the sculpture… The tiny plastic kind, like at the gas station. Then I look over, and there’s Dad. Standing there–smiling–high-fiving himself like a kindiegartner with too much candy.”

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“…praying drunk…”

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“If I were a man, I could fall in love with a girl with gap teeth.”

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“I’m excited about this!”

“You need to get a cat.”

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“It smells like illegal substances in here.”

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“Georgia on my mind…”

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“The way you’re wording this here… it sounds like… Well, if someone with Native American blood read this… they might… you know… Well, have Native American blood, back somewhere way back…not that I look it. I just wonder if you could put this… differently?”

“But that’s just how I write.”

~

“…unfortunate ways of phrasing things…”

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“What’s that girl got a ghost costume on for?”

That is a boy. And don’t scream that: he’s in traditional garb.”

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“Put the phones away; I got your butts for ten more minutes.”

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“I think art is… making something mean more than the sum of its parts.”

“Yeah, technology may be cramping our style with this art thing.”

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“Homework for dayzzzzz….”

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“Can we do this democratically?”

“It’s like America: no one wants to vote.”

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“Let’s talk about blowing up.”

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