Brad Simkulet's Blog, page 110
December 10, 2011
December 9, 2011
awake V
"Look, if I bring a copy of the police report, will that do? … I know this keeps happening. I would have been there on time if this shit hadn't happened. … I know. … Okay, I'll bring it then. And I'll take his shift for tonight. … Thanks. Sorry, Nick."
He hit the off button and felt a pang of nostalgia for an old school phone — the kind he could have slammed down onto a receiver.
"Prick."
He touched talk, scanned the yellow pages for that number again, and dialed the police.
after V
"Look, if I bring a copy of the police report, will that do? … I know this keeps happening. I would have been there on time if this shit hadn't happened. … I know. … Okay, I'll bring it then. And I'll take his shift for tonight. … Thanks. Sorry, Nick."
He hit the off button and felt a pang of nostalgia for an old school phone — the kind he could have slammed down onto a receiver.
"Prick."
He touched talk, scanned the yellow pages for that number again, and dialed the police.
December 8, 2011
after IV
He stood and stared at the empty space. Then he sat on the curb and stared at the empty space, tangling his fingers into his hair and giving it a tug.
"Fuck!"
He stood up and saw Owen cutting across the lawn to his car two spaces away.
"Hey, Owen. Have you seen my car?"
Surprised, Owen slowed to half speed, side-stepping his way to his car. "Umm. No. You don't know where it is?"
He shook his head, flipped Owen a goodbye wave, and headed back up to his apartment.
awake iv
He stood and stared at the empty space. Then he sat on the curb and stared at the empty space, tangling his fingers into his hair and giving it a tug.
"Fuck!"
He stood up and saw Owen cutting across the lawn to his car two spaces away.
"Hey, Owen. Have you seen my car?"
Surprised, Owen slowed to half speed, side-stepping his way to his car. "Umm. No. You don't know where it is?"
He shook his head, flipped Owen a goodbye wave, and headed back up to his apartment.
December 4, 2011
after III
He hit the curb — three flights down, across the grass, beside his parking space — and stared. Empty.
His car was gone.
December 3, 2011
after II
He came out of the shower and toweled himself as dry as he could. His hair was still wet. He looked at the hair drier and wondered why it was sitting beside the sink, but he wanted to get to work early today. He'd been late twice in a row and he needed the job, even if all he was doing was gutting squid and turning it into calamari rings for rich folks' dinners.
December 2, 2011
after I
He woke up damp, sweating into his single white sheet in the bluish light of sun filtered through cheap curtains. He woke up slowly. He didn't start. He shielded his eyes from the window and looked at the clock. There were three minutes to go before the sound of tinny chirping birds would piss him off. He tried to remember his dream. It was making him uneasy, whatever it was, but he couldn't gain access. He swung his legs out with one minute left and turned off the alarm.
December 1, 2011
November 28, 2011
"Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself.
I am large. I contain multitudes."
I am large. I contain multitudes."
- Walt Whitman, Song of Myself. (via thetormentbredinrace)
