I didn’t notice I had nodded out on the train and had missed my stop until the conductor clamped down on my bony shoulders in Wellington, saying, “Come on, honey . . .”
Tag: Drug Chronicles
When Cold-bone described beating his girlfriend unconscious because she threw up on his shoes while giving him a blowjob, Burnadette decided that she wasn’t hungry after all . . .
It took the bulky female bouncer all of five seconds to find the stash in Sallie’s bra: “Now, what’s this, love? Next time keep it in your knickers.”
Damn it—now she’d have to try to score inside . . .
No. I thought you quit. My husband is curled over something held low in his lap.
Just one time, I say. Just a little bit . . .
We’re in the elevator and Jancy is climbing up the metal wall, using my knee as a stepladder. “Look Mom, I’m rappelling,” she says, bouncing up and down on my thigh.
I want to yell at her but I need her like this . . .
Leaving you was like the way some doors have to be open a bit to lock. Meeting you was an accidental brush at the nape of the neck in a crowd: that thrum coupled with fear. To know each other, we need to take something in together; to trust, we must pass dangerous objects, sharp or burning, palm to cupped palm. We talk this way . . .
Are you ready? Here’s a bottle of water, just a sip will do. What’s that? Oh yes, my name of course, how rude of me. Well, that’s actually an interesting question, I have a few. There’s Edward, or Molly. Or Mandy. Me, I like Mandy—because I came and I gave without taking! Sorry, bad joke. Though somewhat true. It’s nice to finally meet you. Of course, you want to know more about me . . .
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