Both hands on the counter, he lowered his gaze towards his legs, to the mahogany floor. Smoke debris, bad incense and a myriad of cheap perfumes congregated together in the thick air, choking him, failing to conceal the sweaty stench emanating from down the hall. He carried the picture album…

Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.
Maybe we’ll talk, joke and think. Smile,
be serious, maybe even get sad.
Maybe meet again after that. Argue over
which is better, Fender or Gibson*. You’d get it
wrong. That’s okay.
Maybe we’ll exchange presents. Flowers or some
chocolates, the ones with the cream you like but
me…not so much.
Maybe we’ll go…

Lying to your right, she turned to face you, her right arm under her head, her left folded across her chest. Hair falling over the sides of her head, looking faintly almond-like in the scarcely moonlit room. You were half awake, in a daze, your head heavy. Between nearly shut eyes, you could see her lips moving. “Here, little maggot brain”.

It passed through your head. Over and over. “Here, little maggot brain”. Was it inviting? Was it mocking? Was it a question, or a statement?

Here, little maggot brain.

A short story.

Wandering through the streets, I can’t help but wonder what they’re thinking. The man with a fancy suit, angrily talking on his phone. The teenage friends laughing with one another. The woman who clutches her purse tightly. What did they do to bring them here, walking near me? Maybe he…


Hobbyist of life

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