The library book of stories from around the world is from 1925 and has things underlined in pencil and decades-old mustard spots on the pages.
There’s a story from Nicaragua about a deaf satyr.
A story from Nicaragua about a deaf satyr. It’s enough for me to just read that and marvel at it, and fill it in on my own. I don’t even want to read the real thing.
2. Hour to Kill
We were at the airport. We were about to take a big exotic trip that all of our friends were jealous about. I had bragged about it a lot on Facebook.
We had checked in our luggage and gotten our boarding passes. We went to our gate, to where all the little seats were in front of our gate. We had an hour to kill.
I got up and went to Potbelly’s for a creamsicle shake. While walking back I felt flooded with this feeling, like pure perfect happiness. I think it was because we were about to have a big adventure, and I loved you. I was walking on clouds, I was so beautiful. I was an enlightened being for a moment. I couldn’t wait for you to see me, walking to you, looking so filled to bursting with life.
But you were looking down, looking down at your iPhone, maybe at a text message from her, looking down, always looking at something other than me.
All the printing presses were destroyed by the Turks — that’s what it said in the intro to Balkan literature in my library book.
All the printing presses used to print books.
Destroyed all the printing presses, all of them.
I am coming unravelled. I am come unravelled.
Destroy, destroy it.
4. New Wave
She was going to a Truffaut matinee. That’s what she said.
“Yeah, that’s cool,” I said. As if I were capable of out-cool-ing her or something.
As if I know even Truffaut 101.
She was going to a Truffaut matinee, alone. That was a thing she did, she would go to some cool movie alone during the day, while everyone else was at work.
I wanted to kill her mystery. I wanted to kill it so much.
Because my husband loves her, he loves what he can’t have, so I want to make her his wife just so he will get sick of her.
The DJ looked down on the club, and he thought, again, about the phrase “bird’s-eye view.”
He looked down on all the little heads in the purple light, and he felt like God, and this made him chuckle.
Maybe being God is funny like this.
6. You Belong To Me
I have a problem with kleptomania, but only when it comes to fancy bras from the Victoria’s Secret store.
I mean, come on; they’re like sixty bucks! Who is stealing from whom here?!
I find one without an ink tag — you can find one if you look hard — and I stuff it in my coat pocket. Later I wear it under a slinky camisole and I make sure the bra straps show.
You think you own our sexy. You think you can charge us so much for it.
It belongs to us.
This belongs to me.