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re: Email

Babe,

You’re still running?

We with back yards or apartments may be happy to pay the price that the wild extracts. Maybe like how we might be willing to pay 6 USD for a coffee in Brooklyn. The same coffee could cost a dollar in Mississippi or cost a season’s work in Ethiopia.

Do you think you will finish your book? Bookstores are exactly what you describe. I guess you have to write for your own evolution and not for the store. I don’t know. There’s a reason no one’s asked me what they should write for.

Since I last heard from you I’ve done very little other than spend or earn money. I paid someone 200 USD to clean my car today. It was nice. I wonder what else people will clean for money. I asked a priest but didn’t get a straight answer

Send me the manuscript before you destroy it or bury it, if you do. Otherwise send a link.

-G

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fiction

Worship

I found her on the bed in what appeared to be my house.

I said, “What are you thinking about?”

She said, “Why don’t you ever buy new sheets?”

I would chase her around a conversation, but she never thought of me.

It turned out everyone lived in that same house.

I thought of her as a goddess, and believed that if the whole world worshipped her I wouldn’t mind.

In the end, it wasn’t even my bed.

And I did mind.

And it didn’t matter about it not being my bed. I was in trouble all the same.

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fiction

How Did You Sleep?

There’s a car down the street with a guy in it been there a long time. Guy been in there a long time, long as the car, far as I know, I didn’t check on him every hour.

Wife said she’d be home by three. I said you’ll be home late and she laughed about that and didn’t say anything else and we had some bread and cheese.

I been asleep since then, had a dream about that man in the car and he came over and terrorized my wife. I was angry and I told him to hit the road. Hit the road, I told him, just like that and he laughed and sang a song about well I can’t remember.

Me I wasn’t even scared of him in the dream but my wife was screaming about it and throwing things at him. She picked dumb things to throw at him. She threw a glass jar of sugar at him and spread all over the floor, the floor was all sticky and dangerous.

Been there a long time, that car with the sleeping man, though and if you ask me the man in there is dead. I walked by yesterday afternoon, was buying a bag of coffee because my wife said we needed to save money and stop going out for coffee all the time and I said to hell with that I’d rather die what was the point of working if you couldn’t even afford to go out for coffee but she was listening to some program on the radio about financial what’s-it and anyways the man in there looked dead and cold.

I figured they’d move the car, some tow truck would come or something, I don’t know, police or put a boot on that car at least but you know maybe if the guy is in there it’s ok to park for that long. But I wonder if anyone else is noticing how long that guy has been in there and if he’s not getting in and out and if after all he’s dead. My wife said to stop worrying about it said she didn’t even see that car there earlier, and anyway she said the guy was breathing and I said to her how can you tell? She said she saw him breathing but she wasn’t looking at him she was checking her email or her instagram I don’t know.

Sometime I feel bad in the afternoon and anyway every morning I don’t know what to say over breakfast. We usually eat different things. I don’t eat anything usually just drink some water and clear my throat a lot. Not that I don’t like silence.

I think that man knew he was going to die and he just pulled there in front of that dollar store. Probably thought someone would help him or I don’t know, probably not. Anyway I was thinking about calling the police but what would I say. My wife said that was a stupid idea. She’s right, anyway, I’m not any good in those situations.

If I could do anything I would help that guy, sure. But I guess I’ll be eating breakfast alone soon enough, too, and maybe whenever he’s gone from there if he goes maybe when I go to the dollar store once in a while I’ll think of him.

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life

Dreary Garden Fun

There were a million people in the park that night and they were all walking into each other and yelling at each other periodically or at least muttering under their breaths God it was… Well it doesn’t matter I suppose it’s all in how you look at things some people I suppose were having a good time and I suppose others were having bad times and I suppose it all reflected more on the person having the time than the kind of time it actually was. I had been up for too long, in my opinion it was too long to be awake and then to go to such an event, I suppose I have a very bad understanding of energy and how much of it I need and how much of it I can pull out of the air.

We were made to park far away, although later on an acquaintance of mine would pull into the park and get offered preferred parking for no reason at all…I suppose there must have been some reason. We parked far away and we walked across the parking lot and across the road and past the ditches and across another road and the whole time we were dogged by a rolling train that they called a tram. It was full of people on the way out and empty on the way in and it rattled and the conductors passive-aggressively ran us off the pathways because didn’t we know we were supposed to take the tram and not walk the half a mile across no man’s land to the park entrance? Well no, we didn’t know, and anyway there was a mob around the boarding station of the tram that reminded me of the idea I have of the Soviet republic. God knows when you would have gotten on that tram.

And when we got there to the park it was a million degrees below zero and there were a million people all milling about and hitting each other and ramming into each other’s ankles with their strollers and I wanted them all dead and the Christmas music was nice but did it have to be so loud and tinny and yet many people managed to have a good time, I suppose because they had paid dearly for these tickets or because they were many of them simpletons or God knows maybe they were working too many hours during the week and had no time for leisure and so they thought this was fun…

My friend was wearing a jean jacket and jeans and a tshirt and expensive sneakers and nothing else and I was about to die how cold it was I couldn’t feel my feet and he just ran around buying Kahlua and hot chocolate mixed together by people who looked like they were half dead and he ran around back and forth I supppose he had an okay time, we didn’t talk about it. But I suppose it was my fault the whole thing I hope I never go back but I might I can’t say that I won’t since I always seem to find myself in these situations.

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fiction

Ain’t No Bed for Rodents

Tom’s wife Marta stood in the doorway. She was a woman of average height with thick calves and long red hair. She jumped back as Tom got close enough that she could see what he was holding.

She said, “Tom, you take that badger back where you found it. What’s the matter with you?”

“Marta look, he’s nice and I think he’s hurt. Look at him. He’s no trouble. I’ll just keep him downstairs until he feels better. It’s too cold out tonight for badgers.”

“What the hell do you know about badgers, Tom Winston? You don’t know the first thing about badgers.”

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