Neighborly

by Ellie Monago

It’s such a different love than I feel for Doug. He’s fully formed, but I have the power to screw her up totally. These are four a.m. thoughts.

has an imposing brick fireplace at its center. There are orange velvet wing chairs and a green velvet sofa, heavy draperies and what has to be a real Persian rug. I’m not sure I like it, but you can’t help but respect it.

“What’s with this music?” Tennyson asks. “It sounds like ice caps melting.”

“Sex is a lot of work,” Gina says. “For not a lot of payoff.”

Riding a husband is like riding a bike.

We might laugh about this later, but it’s not later.

It’s bleach and feces and, perhaps more disturbingly, cotton candy and popcorn, like a county fair run by Satan.

my eyes fall on Doug’s nightstand, on the optimistically placed Astroglide.