Monkey banged into the table leg. The box hesitantly tipped over, shortening its shadow. Small waves of wine sieved through the table cloth.

"That fucking dog."

We laughed, watching our evening sink into the carpet.

We were too high to be drinking anyway.


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Galen about 11 years ago

Laughed. Quite loudly. I love the Haiku-ish rhythm of the first three sentences.

mroshaugh (joined about 11 years ago)
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Veteran of the 90s zine revolution.
Spreading myself thin over blogs, Twitter, FB, etc.
Favorite authors include David Markson, Lydia Davis, Robertson Davies, Donald Barthelme and Richard Brautigan.

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