Well I’ll be damned, a manatee!
The gentle cows of the sea.
I know it sounds a little gross but I put a piece of bubblegum in there and I’m waiting for it to dry. Don’t give me that look. The cufflink store isn’t open on Sundays.
Aw dang it, I forgot to set the DVR.
It barely looks dirty at all from a distance, Marvin mused, peering closely at his favorite flotation device, but once you really stare at these seams there’s all kinds of sand and little unmentionables in there.
Conrad paused to reflect on the impracticality of his preferred running attire.
His foot was already beginning to blister and he had at least three miles left to go.
Did you remember to grab the Garmin? What about my pretzel sticks?
I’m not trying to nag, Brian explained, I just get so hungry on these long trips.
Ah hell, I dropped my deviled egg.
Carlos hates Bill. While he (Carlos) spends his days sweltering beneath the sun’s harsh gaze, occasionally bending over to tug up the elastic on his socks, Bill preens in his suit, the dim confines of the office somehow able to contain both the man and his ego without bursting. Carlos doesn’t even wear pants anymore. It’s been years since he’s attempted to knot a tie.
Rosa’s funeral. That was the last time.
The rubber is warm beneath his fingertips.
His work shorts are soft and worn with overuse.
Someday I will kill that man, he thinks.
In the office Bill’s thoughts are quite similar, though his voice on the phone is booming and full of mirth.
Shit, where are my keys? Don’t panic. You’re still in the building. Fuck, where is my shirt? Was I wearing a shirt when I left? Did someone take it? Did someone take my keys? Don’t look up. They could be watching you. Just act casual. My blood’s like ice. I’m terrified. Just calm down. Keep your head. What’s next, my shoes? My vest? My life?
I just wanted to go to 7-11.
I just wanted milk.
Why is this happening to me?
Have you seen my copy of Robert Venturi’s Complexity and Contradiction in Architecture, Brandon asked, massaging the soft skin at his nape. I don’t know why, but it’s super comfortable. I’m lying on The Poetics of Space by Gaston Bachelard and it’s giving me a terrible crick in my neck.