My short short story ‘Tonight Is Just Like Last Night’ is live today at Black Heart Magazine.
I watch him roll a joint. I am a mannequin. I sip red wine out of a plastic cup.
Soul’s hunched over the mossy clumps of weed on the coffee table – a piece of wood on a couple of truck tires – his thin wife-beater exposing the unfinished tattoo of Jesus on his bony shoulder. He’s sitting on a faded gray couch we found in the alley today. The center cushion’s scorched right through, leaving a gaping black burn. I imagine someone took a flame-thrower to it. Or to somebody, who moved out of the way just in time.
I kind of like it. It fits well in the apartment.