FLASH
On the first day of our new life together, my husband realized that I was not interested in theoretical debate. He said it was okay by him and went out to get some pancake mix.
When Laika the space dog comes back, bulleted to earth in a tiny white escape pod that dissolves upon opening, nobody can believe it.
It all started with the curse of my tits. Women’s bodies are cursed. Everyone tries to look at them, everyone tries to ignore them.
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
I reached for my invoice, which Dr. George, holding it between thumb and forefinger as if it were a soiled diaper, dropped into my hand.
Kate Winslet always reminded me of my mom. Maybe that’s why, even to this day, I get defensive of Rose from Titanic when people call her stupid or shallow…
At twenty, the world is yours because you’re beautiful. But never acknowledge your beauty, or it makes you a bitch.
You’re joking, I say, interrupting the steady bumping of the doctor’s bushy white mustache.
Allanson looked out of the viewport, at the ragtag flotilla of ships trailing behind, some of them slow to catch up. It was to be expected with the little time that they’d had to cobble the fleet together.
A man with a fistful of showbags said, “That cow sounds like a person trying to sound like a cow.”
It was spring and the hills were irradient, like they had to get out all their green in one short burst before catching fire.
None speak of how the streets collide in coarse seams like scars, the fresh cobbles unable to level with the ones shaken from their mortar by uncountable seasons.
Mama sped along the highway, unbothered by bits of gravel that flew up from the front tires and struck the windshield of the sedan.
I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
