The two of them sat there, staring at their glasses. They each had their of Johnny Walker, black for one, red for the other.
The bar tender walked by, they almost simultaneously motioned toward their glasses.
The pour seemed slow, but they paid no attention to it. Garbed in black suits, with white shirts and black ties, they hunched over their vessels, as if protecting the precious liquid from some evil darkness.
"I just can't wrap my head around it, Gabriel."
"I know Joseph."
"I mean, today was one of those days you read about, you watch in movies, man."...
blahblah fuck
Andy abhorrs aggressive people, but he adores alliteration. He likes sunlight, and soft things, and words that start with the same letter as his name. Andy doesn't like to be touched, but he likes to touch things. Soft things are the best, especially Maggie's dog with his shaggy fur and smiling face. Sometimes, Andy likes to sleep on him, and Maggie lets him. Andy has a good life most of the time, when people leave him alone or when he gets chips for his tea. He likes wearing no socks and feeling the grass between his toes, because it's soft,...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. It wasn't a normal doorway because when I say doorway you think of things like wood and brass nobs and, possibly, hinges.
This had none of those.
And it was hardly a red gown, because you are likely thinking of something you'd take to a ball, or if you're the really twisted sort, and I can tell you are, there's an image of a piece of clothing given out to a somewhat disturbing institution, or asylum, for those less inclined to modern verbiage or intent on...
"So you're saying you didn't see Willie Mason leaving the store Friday night?" PI Dot Post eyed the man sitting in her passenger seat.
"I see no man, no ma'am. Course you know dat."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I see someone leave that store, 'bout 11:45, I reckon, but weren't no Willie Mason. Nah, dis person got curly red hair an' wear army boots."
Dot glanced down at her own foot attire, her hand reaching uncertainly for her auburn curls.
"Aye, I see you, detective lady." He grinned maliciously. "I see you wit' de blood on your hands."
Well,...
Shape, function, ability, beauty, perfection. I wanted it all.
It started when I had a freak SCUBA diving accident that left me partially deaf in both ears. I'd gone and gotten the implants that made me hear again. But the surgery was such a success, the technology so advanced, that now I could hear better than ever. I heard couples squabbling politely over their meals from across crowded restaurants. I heard babies crying from four blocks away.
Next, I lost my vision in a freak astronomy accident and had full eye replacement surgery. Now I could see the seat number...
"But do you love me?"
Love? What is love? Love is a social construct. Love is an excuse to screw someone you think is hot. Love is a joke, a trap, an illusion. Love is what you wish for when you don't know how the world really works.
I see your skin and I think of you naked, wish for you to fall into my arms so I can possess you. Part of me wants you now, part of me wants you always.
There's only a limited extent to which these parts overlap.
Lust after you, to be sure. Like...
I don't know what I'm doing here. I never really have to be honest. Going through that door was the worst decision of my life and now look where I am. Stuck here, in a world I know nothing about, one that looks so familiar and yet so alien. A place where I am surround by people yet so alone.
I'd rather I was actually alone, it's much better than being ignored. Much better than the situation I'm in now.
It boggles the mind what the people are like here. They never stop, they're always moving. None of this makes...
Let's play a little word association game. I'll start. Are you ready for the word? I'll wait.
Ready now? Okay.
Potatoes.
No, now you say something else. Let's try again.
Potatoes.
No, see, you just repeated my word again. This isn't an echo game, you're not supposed to be the Grand Canyon. Let's try again.
Potatoes.
Okay, seriously, say what comes to mind when I say the word potatoes! I know, obviously the word potatoes comes to mind, but you have to say something else. Because that's how the game works! Come on, son, you're better than this!
What's that?...
Josh ground his teeth in frustration. The other kids on the playground were really getting to be a nuisance.
He'd heard all of their excuses as to why his team always won the soccer games. He'd been held back a year, he was bigger and stronger, he'd been to some special training camp, he was a mutant, etc. They kept making excuses, saying that he wasn't playing fair, that he fouled, and so forth, even though he was always careful not to. They just couldn't deal with the fact that he was better than them.
But now it was really...