EPHEMERA OF THE SCATOLOGICAL
I knew it wasn't going to work from the moment
she walked in. She took her dress off. A moment
too long, it seemed. Nothing underneath; oh good
God, a pussy like a fist. My sunglasses, as I recall,
came off in an instant. With her one hand, she
flicked some sort of radio on to a songbook of
her making - a shifting yet frolicsome jazz
I'd never gotten to like. We sat down for a
spell, just learning to breath. She said her
name was 'Emee'. I couldn't quite grab
the pronunciation.
-
I'd never done this before : 'too many years
in school and not that much to show,' I'd said
to her long before, when her mother was
still around. Back then it was a difficult
choice, the 'her or her' - now that she
was alone, it was much more simple.
-
I jacked up her car with the only
lift I had. The car stayed up
a very long time while we
worked on the engine parts
parts below. Things
running, and
things not.
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