Check Your Smile 2

She has a job at that stuck-up tattoo parlor on 19th street and her name tag says "Bryn" like we all don't know what that's short for. She thinks she's hot shit right now, thinks that "y" is gonna save her, but give her a few years and you'll be able to call her up and she'll bring her own Swiffer Wet Jet. Her sister Sage works in a little shop that sells shit like hemp iPod covers or knit drawstring bags the color of the Jamaican flag or lucky rabbits feet covered in authentic Navajo period blood. Their parents tried really hard.

Check Your Smile

Oh, why yes of course, we're all unique. We're all people with complicated universes of thought and perception and each and every one of us has something to offer. Like, take Brenda for instance. Everyone named Brenda is a cleaning lady.

Aweigh

I feel shipwrecked. Not like I experienced a shipwreck as a passenger, like I am the ship that has wrecked. Water rushes in through my splintered hull, filling me up with God knows what I'm going down I can feel it. The only island, that gas station down the street, that minimum wage raft and a life jacket with my name on it.

This Was What I Meant When I Said Some People Are Pointless

Blood on the carpet, on the couch, amongst the broken glass from the back door strewn like spilled sugar. Blood of a father, of a son, of a driver's ed teacher with a dog and a keychain garnished with gas station rewards cards. A quiet afterthought, raspberry drizzle on a small slice of store-bought cheesecake. The blood of a surprised man.