I met my wife in an elevator, stuck between floors. We planned the rest of our lives while we waited for rescue. She wore plaid; me, my typical blue jeans and T-shirt. She was coming from work, me from school. I seem to recall it was something in her eyes. The way they watched me shift, the way they followed the movement of my lips as I explained why I was still single at 30. The deliveryman pretended not to notice us, and we thought that was the funniest thing. He stood under 5 feet tall, and for over 3 hours, holding a bag of cold chinese food while we conceived our first child. Her bare ass leaned against his leg while I pumped my sperm into her. He pressed the DOWN button in vain, over and over again.
bon Baron
(joined
about 14 years
ago)
I always knew I would be a writer, ever since I was 9 years old and I got my first A++ on a creative writing assignment. I suppose I should wonder if I do it for the promise of approbation. In any event, I never actually did become a writer. I became a lawyer. Now I am 40, and wondering whether I will ever fulfill my potential as a writer. I like the idea of the 6 minute story, because that seems to be all my brain can give at any one time to the deep, empty pocket that is my audience. If you leave me comments, and dare I wish, approbation, then perhaps I will expand my ouvre and fulfill my destiny.
