1.3.7
At the top of the stairs she began, and by the time she stepped across the threshold of the bedroom, through the painted frame, was undressed, for no one save herself.
1.3.6
Approaching the bottom of the stairs her thigh twinged—she gazed back with empty eyes down the hall to where the table still stood on four legs underneath the phone where every relation sat balanced on the head of a swaying pin.
I waited on the street
By some old men chirping about news and the temperature of their afternoon tea. I stalled long enough to see the buskers turn over. I gave one all my money and left. I plan to get this shit up to shape. I get the feeling I haven’t unleashed its potential. What do all these camera
I waited on the street Read More »
1.3.5
She left the table, pushed the phone to the table edge, and dropped the dirty bowl on the counter next to lip-stained ballers, twists bathing in the dank water.
1.3.4
Her phone, sitting in silence, entertaining the whole drab melodrama, now glared a message at her—“all okay?”—a call immediately incoming: Moses.
Flamingosis & The Kount | Maniacs!
Crushing down the wire, I was a maniac for romance. Women and artists, I’ve chewed it all up and spit it back out. The best ones still haunt me. It can be difficult to predict the outcome of a trip back. Sometimes it’s better to keep the phantoms in my back pocket tickling the bottom
Flamingosis & The Kount | Maniacs! Read More »
1.3.3
Thumbing the handle, the spoon pressed back against her skin as she pushed it into the bottom of the bowl, gradually at first, until the silver yielded to her bending at the joint curling back in to touch itself.