Five Minutes of Fiction

phone book, yellow pages,If I were to tell you that the sky was falling you might call me a chicken and look up just to mock me. In which case I would probably hit you in the back of the head with a shoe or a phone book because failing to do so would only reward such behavior and we pamper our assholes far too much as it is. I’m talking about congress, not flushable wipes, but I’ve heard it both ways. Also, what else am I supposed to do with a phone book?

The point is, you don’t listen to a damn thing I say, and when I ask for another drink don’t think of it as a request but a compromise. You pour another and I’ll sit here a little while longer even though I’ve heard this story about a dozen times and it fails to get better. If you’re going to be so damn boring the least you could do is embellish it a bit. Life is so much more interesting when there are lies dancing through it. Everybody knows you have to break rules to tango.

Last night I was up well past this morning and I have nothing to show for it but circles under my eyes and squares in a glass that are clear and slowly melting. That is the shape of things and those still to come. You said you didn’t sleep at all, which is probably true despite your lack of sagging souvenirs. To suggest otherwise would imply that you have listened, or you are lying about it, and that is exactly the same thing. Just pour a damn drink and get to the part where you laugh too loud.

You say the sky is blue and stretches taut like skin across a memory. I say that it is falling, and I dare you to look anywhere but at me.

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