Photo by X.A. Medina (http://lepoet.tumblr.com/)
—-
Basquiat called from the afterlife, he said, paint my child. I responded, But I’m a writer. There was a pause and then, Sorry must have the wrong guy. I said, It’s okay, but what’s it like being dead? It was too late, Basquiat had signed off of Gchat.
—-
Their boots clicked and echoed off of the wet concrete.
They walked to get tacos, she slipped her hand into his, like she used to. His heart kicked twice, then settled back into place.
—-
There was the Honduran in name and face only. For the rest of her was white, her clothes, music, makeup, friends. But she left just as quickly as she came. She-
—-
My boyfriend’s a writer, she said to me. I nodded my head as I blew on my hot tottie. He writes this really erotic shit, I love it, it just gets me so wet. I nodded again, not sure of what to say really, so I took a sip of my drink, testing the temperature. It was too soon, I burned my tongue. Damn.
Still hot? She asked as she twirled her whisky in her hand.
Yup.
I once burned my whole throat on Absinth in Prague. She faced me, her black see through tights revealed a large tattoo on her right thigh, her skirt blocking half of it. Her top was a loose flannel, but there was little doubt that what she was hiding was good. Have you ever done Absinth?
No.
I have some back at my place, would you want to drink some with me tonight? Sure, I responded. Cool, she finished off her whisky and placed it back on the bar, I’m going to the ladies room, be right back. She squeezed my thigh as she walked to the bathroom. I tried another sip of my hot tottie, and burned my tongue again.
—-
She took the steps with force, her heels clapping as she skipped a step with each lift of her legs. I skipped steps too, but I was over six feet. She was five-five, five-six at best or at worst I figured, considering all the short guys in the world it doesn’t pay to be a tall girl. I admired her step skipping, for me it was easy, my long thin legs a fusion of my parents genes, but for her it took real determination and concentration. I promised myself as she went left out of the subway and I went straight, that next time I would skip two steps, just to feel what it was like to be her if only for when she took those concrete steps.
—-
Cherry chapstick stained the fire warden’s walls, bringing tears to his eyes and snot to his nose.
-
westonauburn posted this
