Fire Sale

2

1. He got fired for spitting on the dog.

She got fired for taking her shoes off again.

2. She finally told me the difference between just a big pot and a crockpot.

You can kill a rodent with a crockpot.

She had wide feet full of veins. Her shoes looked like timebombs. She put her finger between the toes as if she were picking food from her teeth.

 

3. The escalator didn’t work. I fell down the stairs in protest.

 

4. It’s that song that kills me. It comes after that one song that is just a little sad, and before that song there is actually a happy song, with a little sad note at the end. It’s the chronology of the whole thing.

 

5. This is not about you and I. I’m being evasive when I say that. Our success was only measured by how much I didn’t betray you.

 

6. When I was walking to work today I passed a lady standing outside the stockbroker place. Her hair was stringy and wet and she leaned forward, bent at the waist. She pulled a baby’s pacifier out of her bag and yelled excitedly, “I do have a key!”

 

7. I joined a dating service that seemed appropriately low class and in my price range. I was delighted by the option of choosing “casual sex” in the pull-down options where it announces what I’m looking for. Usually you have to beat around the bush with these operations. But then again, the borders of their web page were cluttered with naked women who seemed ready for any man that passed for a high school graduate. I was excited the next day when I got my first online message. It was short and sweet and said that she “lived in my area” and thought my profile looked “more intriguing than most.” There was a photo and a web page full of her interests attached. She looked coy and sexy, dark brown hair slightly bed-messy. I discovered though, when I tried to message her back, that I would need to pay extra to do so. I thought I’d give it a day.

The next day, I had three other messages in the morning and I noticed that they all had a similar tone. And they all misspelled the word “you’re” as “your.” As in: Message me back if your interested.

By the end of the week, I had about forty messages and I realized that they were all fake. All but a few wrote the tell-tale “your.”

 

8. There must be a mail order bride convention going on. All the guys here are frumpy with bad corporate haircuts and the girls are all pretty and foreign-looking with too much makeup. They dance awkwardly together like puzzle pieces that don’t fit. Like jigsaw puzzle pieces from two completely different puzzles.

 

9. His lips seemed both chapped and gross with spit, like a burn victim.

 

10. I thought I saw a small white mouse on the floor, sleeping. I looked closer and saw its wound. Blood smeared on its face.

I looked even closer and saw that it was just a discarded tampon.

 

11. I had cat hair all over my black pants when I left your place tonight. Your white Siamese longhair getting his revenge on me for fucking you on his side of the bed.

 

12. We tried to decide if we should build a fire but we didn’t have any firewood. We threw our coats in. We threw our pants in. We shed everything we could, in order to get naked. We stood an inch apart. We hoped to get warm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo Source: Eclipse of the Heart




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About Author

Kevin Sampsell is an editor (Portland Noir and other books), publisher (Future Tense Books), bookstore employee (Powell’s Books) and author (Creamy Bullets and the memoir, A Common Pornography). He lives in Portland, Oregon. Learn more at kevinsampsell.com.

2 Comments

  1. Pingback: Kevin Sampsell: The Hardest Working Man in Portland

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