Thursday, August 27, 2009

Miles To Go

I sure picked a bad time to be in love. I should have not let those tomatoes rot on the counter. I should have taken my meds. Taking a crow bar to the ATM machine wasn't such a hot idea either.

My car is packed and I have a dog eared map to New Jersey. I think I have to take the Parkway, or is it the Thruway? Maybe I'll just follow a car with Jersey plates and hope I make it by nightfall.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Back Alley Chat

"This is how I find out?!" I'm so enraged I'm shaking all over. We meet in a back alley. I have tufts of her hair as evidence, found in his bed. They are black and silky. Mine are reddish brown and wavy. "How long?! How did you meet? My God, in my house?" She's not answering me, just picking at her nails.

Someone from the restaurant opens the back door to throw garbage away. This startles her and she runs from me. Coward! "Ha, I hope your kittens have six toes just like their freak father. I hope you get run over by a truck!"

I'm heartbroken, sick, sad, but still want to find out what's in the garbage.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Of Course I Didn't Leave My Name

Low carb, high protein. Hmmmm, looks good. I throw it into my cart. I need avocados and cilanto too. Lobster is on sale. $6.99 a pound. I begin thinking about the rubber bands on their claws. Poor little guys, girls? I'll sneak in tonight and bring a hammer and free them. Then I remember it's a 24 hour grocery store.

"Number 118, number 118!" "Oh, hi how about a pound of provolone, sliced thin."
Two hundred sixty four dollars later, I'm loading the groceries into the back of the Volvo. I always return my cart back to the cart docks, so rude that lazy asses can't take a few steps away from their recently procured bag of Doritos and aeresole cheese in a can to return the cart! I feel like playing bowling ball cart. I give her a good heave and she heads straight for the dock. An unexpected wind gust catches her silver hands and she careens into a massive black Dodge Durango. SMACK, THUD, SCUTTLE SCUTTLE.

Oh shit! I run over to the truck, the cart has begun a game of chase. I catch it and return it where it should have been. The truck is on humongous wheels, the front of the truck is almost chest level to me. I don't see any scratches, or swelling, no bruising. I look around to see if anyone saw me....don't think so.

I search my car floor for paper and pen. I scribble a note on my weekly church offering envelope. "MY CART GOT AWAY FROM ME. IT DIDN'T DO ANY DAMAGE, BUT I THOUGHT I WOULD LEAVE YOU THIS NOTE." I drew a smiley face, tucked it under the wiper and drove away.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

What A Fine Pickle I've Gotten Myself Into

I knew I had to stop him. "Think! think woman!" I reached into my satchel and brought out a greasy brown paper bag from earlier this afternoon. I had a sandwich while waiting for my oil change. It was tasty. Black forest ham, brie, tomato, red onion and a dollop of humus rolled snugly in a whole wheat wrap. I smelled the bag and thought fondly of my lunch. A warm, limp dill pickle awaited my desperate grasp.

I climbed down onto the subway tracks. Desperate measures for love. The tunnel was thick with emptiness, no one saw me, all too consumed with their own thoughts and what awaited them in their homes at the end of the day. I wedged the pickle in the southbound tracks, hoping this would stop the train. A horrible crash would occur. The local news would be all over this one! He would then have to know now how much I love him.

The Same Thing Everyday

I let my dog out every morning around 7:30. His name is Deja Vou. He never, ever comes when I call for him. It's the same thing every morning.