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Olivier salad.
Maybe that’s what immortality is: remembering the tastes of your youth while feeding your children.
Megan studies him, her gaze that of a predator posing as a house pet.
People want to be heard, especially when they’ve been misheard, misquoted, and misunderstood. It’s why we relive old arguments in the shower until we’ve won.
O’Bannon’s bar was a pity project squatting at the wrong end of a strip mall in terminal decline.
She laughed and bit his shoulder and cried quietly later.
Perhaps therapy made men uncomfortable. So much else about women did.
The crescent scar running from her temple, down through her eyebrow, and circling back across her cheek was a constant reminder: she had been broken and was still putting the pieces back together.
She had done everything to make it work after high school. Sure, there had been boyfriends after him, even ones she had loved. But a first love? Well, nothing ever felt as intense. Nothing ever would.
Guys often called from payphones after dark. Women usually waited until they were home.
thundercunt,
They’re scrubs.”
degloved my finger.
Veritas Vitæ Magistra. “Truth is the teacher of life,”
She was in the wrong headspace to get faded.
It was different for guys. Sure, they had reputations, but they could shed them like old clothes over the summer and become something new. Women had labels that stuck.
That’s the power of memory, he supposes. Every one is unique, carved into neurons and strengthened through emotions and senses. It’s why so many adults never move past the music of their youth.
vellus hairs
His clothes hung off him as if he was in the throes of a crash diet.
What a pluperfect fuckup.
