June Blame_Pismo Beach_Always Check the Dryer for Crayons_A Dose of Summertime Sentiment on a Fine D
Catalog Guide:
June Blame
I’ve always wondered who made the sun for the morning. After all, I’ve watched it melt into the edge of the sea from docks, sand crumbled shores, and unsturdy balconies. An ephemeral fruit that hangs in the sky, teasing mankind with it’s intangibility; until it rots or succumbs to the horizon. I’m quite tired of being so cold at night, so whoever the craftsman is ought to learn how to make something that beats longer. Though that’s unlikely. Where I’m standing now makes the sun look like an angry beast. A swollen canary with sharp beady eyes, a prideless lion with his www.onedoor.ccjaw suspended over the b...
Pismo Beach
As it so happens, the words, “I QUIT” were quickly followed by, “You can’t quit! You’re fired!”Fine. Quit, fired, who gives a shit? I don’t qualify for unemployment anyway in the field I was in, so it hardly matters. If my demanding, never satisfied boss wants the last word, let him have it. As they say, no skin off my ass. My last thought as I walked away was, “Good luck filling my position, dickwad.”I might have also thought, “See you in hell,” but that’s not very nice, is it?I probably should have applied for something else before I quit, but it was immediate, if that makes sense. I had a b...
Always Check the Dryer for Crayons
CW: miscarriage “It doesn’t hurt,” the radiographer says, her voice light and cheery. Youthful. She shakes the gel, it slaps against the ends of the bottle, the vulgar noise harsh in the softness of the dim room."It did last time.” The words escape. Their weight settles on my chest, and each wretched syllable wraps around my throat and squeezes, forcing bitter tears from my eyes.The transducer is cold as it skims the barren expanse above my pubic hair. She pushes hard on my bladder, and I squirm and hope it holds under the incursion.“The first one can be a bit uncomfortable,” she says.I stare ...
A Dose of Summertime Sentiment on a Fine Day
Summertime in Brazen Grove has been never more delightful. Since Walter and Naomi Birch adopted me, I always find myself going back to this place, year after year. Even after I wandered from the driest desert to the land where the sun does not set, no place felt like home like Brazen Grove did. In a small abode just on the corner of the street, it was the home where I grew up with my adoptive siblings, Finley and Marion. We used to play with other neighborhood kids, unfortunately, they left shortly after high school. And for all I know, they never came back. To me, to never return to the place...