Wednesday, February 13, 2013

No Obligation

He could hear the rain exploding on his bedroom window before he even opened his eyes. It sounded like someone was hosing down the building. He said out loud "It's raining." He was right.

The crashing thunder was what woke him up or maybe it was his dog burrowing deeper under the duvet which ultimately led the dog to burrowing deeper under him. He thought about it a while and couldn't make up his mind what had made him open up his eyes.

"I guess I should get out of bed," he said out loud and then he got out of bed. His dog stuck his head out from under the covers and decided to get up too. The dog was usually given a bowl off food when he got out of bed. The dog was also right.

After the man put his robe on he decided to make a pot of coffee after he fed his dog. He usually made coffee every morning. This morning was no different.

When the coffee finished brewing he poured a cup for himself. He gave the dog a bowl of water. It didn't seem right to give a dog a bowl of coffee, so he never did. It had crossed his mind though.

He stood by the window watching and listening to the rain. The sound of the rain reminded him of Paul Simon's Graceland album which reminded him of childhood family vacations. When rain hits different surfaces it sounds like percussion instruments that Africans played on the album Graceland by Paul Simon.

While drinking his coffee in front of the window his neighbor who he thought was nice walked by. He thought she was nice because she had a nice wave.  They would usually wave to each other and this day was no different. He started waving and when she looked at him she screamed out loud and looked away.

She startled him and he spilled his coffee. He wasn't sure why she was screaming until he realized that he had spilled coffee on his penis. Spilling hot coffee on your penis is typically painful. This instance was no different.

He walked away from the window and closed his robe until he could get to the bathroom to ensure none of his other neighbors would scream and potentially cause him to spill more coffee on his penis.

Burning your penis doesn't have a prescribed remedy that he knew of. The man decided that putting Neosporin on the inflamed red skin was the best option. He thought this because Neosporin had worked well on cuts and scrapes, so he figured it would do the trick.

It was still raining outside. He didn't know this by looking out the window though. He was afraid to go outside now, let alone look out the window. He knew it was raining because he could hear Paul Simon's Graceland.

The dog had burrowed back into the bed. The man noticed and said "Dog, you've got the right idea!" He carefully took his robe off and got back into bed.

Friday, February 01, 2013


I'm wrapping up the final touches on a chap book that I'll be putting out in April. These are some rough draft excerpts from a story that I decided not to use or develop for the book. I'll probably never use them, but I didn't want to lose them. Now I'm rhyming...


She sent me a copy of Carson McCuller’s The Heart is a Lonely Hunter about 6 years ago when we were still friends. The contents of the box also included a handwritten note, an awkward picture of her from childhood and a few other books that I had lent her a year ago. I had to keep the letter and picture in my desk at work so my girlfriend wouldn’t find it. It don’t remember it being inappropriate, but her tone sounded like she was in love with me.

Neither of us were very good at hiding it.


I’m on Facebook talking to the girl I sat next to in third grade. We’re exchanging stories about what we recall from 1989. I believe us to be polar opposites regarding everything in life, except small talk. My strongest memory of her is when she told me to say “Who died and made you king” to another classmate who had made fun of my sweat pants. She was the first girl in Kentucky that I fell in love with. Granted, I was 8. She tells me that she’s in love with Jesus now. She’s 31.

Needless to say, she’s still on the market.


I can’t remember her name.

She’s the only girl that I’ve ever met on a dating site. We bonded over our mutual love for pre-World War II Blues. She liked Ma Rainey. 

Her nose was striking, but I can’t recall what the rest of her looked like, just her nose. I’m not sure if beauty is in the flaw or if I just wondered if the rest of her body was proportionate to her nose when she was naked. 

She stopped calling when she found out I was her fuck buddy’s boss.


She tried to hide her face in the scarf that was loosely wrapped around her neck, but I could still see that her mascara was running-- because she had decided not to anymore. Our arms tightly wrapped each other as I watched her trembling face transfer from her scarf to mine. Winter had decided to arrive fashionably late that year.

“I’m just so sad.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t even like him that much.”

“You’re not crying because of him.”

“I know.”