She covered her walls in post-punk flyers and ironic unicorn drawings in suggestive poses. In a “sexy yeti” costume she carved pumpkins in the basement and left the seeds and innards to dry on the floor.
A breeze blows through the window in the middle of the summer night. Jean-Michel, lying awake beside Brigitte, raises both hands, feels the air against his palms, closes his fingers into fists.
Every other Sunday night, dad manned the rudder while we rowed the one-eighth replica Viking ship east across the bay.
I meet my boss for lunch at Kaya Sushi House in Mar Vista. It’s not quite Venice Beach and not quite Culver City either, somewhere in between the two. I’m in a plaid skirt and a grey muscle tee with my leather jacket. I’m trying out the badass LA look, which I feel confident enough today to pull off.
No peppermint candy filled stockings or pine scented candles to mask the smell of her mother’s Marlboro Lights. Boys crept into her window and fondled her pubis, twisted her tits.
In less than a second your entire head could explode and just about every thought or feeling you had would be rendered almost completely insignificant. Your skull’s circumference, just a broom sweep of ashes.
“It’s red and white, of course,’’ you answered. “Or maybe just red, and the white holds the red bits together,’’ you added, just in case.
The chains of Qalixy’s swing squeaked as she turned to you.
“No, no, the color of peppermint is actually purple,’’ she said.
Speak to someone. Give only your first name. Always give only your first name. Access your mental calendar. Try to count backwards to the relevant date.