Ordinary Handsome: The banker

I climbed into my old Edsel. The tires were near bald and the brakes were feeble, but it would get me to where I was going if I was careful. I kept meaning to run it over to Kelly’s, but the man was a thief and would sell me my own shirt if he could. And I still wasn’t in any particular hurry. If it was important enough for Kincaid to call me on a Sunday morning, then it would be important the rest of the day. He could stew all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change my way of thinking about him. Continue reading “Ordinary Handsome: The banker”


The unsolicited clatter of voices, the undistinguishable vices, the bruising behind the eyes. A man growing old in a stranger’s bed. She’s still asleep, and her hair is molded to the pillow, random strands reaching my shoulder, a delicate swatch as soft as candlelight. I feel the firmness of her hip against mine, clean young flesh upon mottled old flesh, flesh like weatherworn leather. Continue reading “Tumbling”

Waiting for Mr. Coffee

Morning. Before everything remembers what it is. This perfect solitude, when the soul is naked, the flesh is asleep, and the dreams start to wither. The sky, that perfect grey pastel, dingy but lovely. It is its own naked shadow. The undressed trees, waiting for rain, thirsty for refreshment. You can smell it, breathing beyond the hills, exhaling its wet breath. Continue reading “Waiting for Mr. Coffee”

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