Canonization

It took three beer.

Then Coyote, casually, as he headed out to smoke, stopped, bent down and between the  couple; grey-haired, wrinkled, sitting right up against the table, one hand, anxious wanting to tremble, on their drink, the others clasped tightly together.s

“So what’s your secret?” he asked.

“No secret,” the woman said, figuring the situation. “We love each other. ” They raised their glasses. “If you’re looking to learn something, you’re looking the wrong way.”

Why the fuck? What was he hoping for? Romanticism? What the fuck? Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Forehead creased, severely, Coyote, ran, outside, lit his cigarette.

Inhaled.

Exhaled.

 

Canonization

Advice From the Local Tavern’s Regular

Sometimes, the best thing to do is cut your losses. You can work and work and goddamn work at something, but there comes a point were you have to realize it’s just not going to turn out the way you hoped. Sometimes, its easy enough to decide, other times you take a step back and think hell, I’ve gone this far, be a shame to waste that effort.

That’s a trap.

If you’ve though about giving up, you’re done. You can double down and keep working at it, but you’re lying to yourself. It’s over. Finished. Go do something else.

Advice From the Local Tavern’s Regular

There is a House

The two of them, fools and drunks both, made their way down the narrow street, bumping shoulders, pulling ties askew and scuffing the freshly polished shoes of up the respectable men on their way to work, and polluting the perfumed air of the hat-box ladies rushing to market.

The stares and snide, under-the-breath remarks had no affect on either of them.

The pair stomped in unison, never lifting their feet too much, not confident the ground would be there when they set it down again, eyes nothing more than reddish slits pulled tight against the rising sun, smiles from ear-to-ear.

There is a House

Distractedly Generous

“What good things do you do?”

“Good things?”

“Yeah,” she said, stretching out to reach her toes. “You know, what do you do to make someone’s day better?”

He tried to fold the bottle cap he held in half with one hand, and then when that didn’t work, he used both.

“Sometimes when I get a snack out of the vending machine at work, I leave my change in that little hole.”

“On purpose?”

“Well no. I just forget to take it, he said, looking at the creases in his finger pads. “But I hope whoever found it was happy.”

Distractedly Generous

Measure Below the Knuckles for a Proper Fit

It’s weird when grown men pull their hands into their jackets to keep them warm.

They can probably afford gloves. You can get a pair for two dollars at the pharmacy. They do tear easily.  Every time I’ve tried on leather gloves in a store, I see the employees staring at me and making a mental note in case the police ever come in asking about serial killers.

Maybe flexing the finger and making choking motions isn’t the best way to make sure they fit. They should be looking for the gloveless men, they usually have something up their sleeves.

Measure Below the Knuckles for a Proper Fit

Something Like This

You roll the dice and take your licks, and if you’re just a little bit lucky, you make it out through the other side. Not everyone does though. They look at the world through a film, never lay their hands on it proper. Not really part of it, like those cut out dolls kids used to play with, paper tabs folded back over shoulders and around thighs, holding their outfits or masks on.

But never right up against. You could always blow between them, and laugh at the whistling sound it made, something like the wind across a bottle’s neck.

Something Like This

As The World Turns

Her heart was like a pine tree, dense, dark, protected by pointed barbs. But under all that, a thick sap, sticky and slow running. Or it was a field of grasses, leaning one way or the other in the wind; browned and bowing down or stretching up towards the sun, stalks thick and green.

Or neither of those.

Instead it could be like a stream, swollen with the spring rains, gnawing at the banks as it rushed for open waters. Most times, though, it was barren, cold, covered in yards of snow, wind-blown drifts, steep, sharp and high as hills.

As The World Turns

Half Dozen or So

Before these new places opened, all you could get at (local chain store) was a cruller or plain or maybe jelly-filled. Sure they were good, we didn’t know any better, never had anything better. (laughs) But then sometimes you’d wonder if they hadn’t dropped a couple cups of sawdust in the batter, just to stretch it out some.

Then these new places, people lost their minds! Donuts are supposed to fried! (laughs). So (the local store) had to do a better job and make better quality stuff, or they’d end up losing business.

There’s a metaphor in that, I think.

Half Dozen or So

It’s All in Your Head

“Maybe you need glasses,” Boar said, fitting a piece into the middle of the puzzling. Hen shrugged and stared out the window to the backyard.

“I can see fine.”

“Are you drinking water? Dehydration can cause headaches.”

“I guzzle the stuff. And I exercise, and my teeth are fine,” she said. “It’s some kind of tumour. Has to be.”

Boar clucked his tongue, dug through the pieces.

“Do you see anything that’s green and white?”

“What?”

“Never mind, I found it,” he said. “If you think that, you should see a doctor.”

“And catch pneumonia? Hospitals only make you sicker.”

It’s All in Your Head

Loop the Loop

“Does this all seem like something,” she asked, hesitating. “Something we’ve done before?”

“We have dinner most nights. Can’t really remember the last time I missed a meal,” he said, waving his fork in a small circle, pointing at his waist.

“Not eating. But everything. This exact meal, this exact time, wearing these clothes. Having the same conversations. It all seems so familiar.”

“It seems perfectly unique to me. Are you tired?”

“I haven’t been sleeping well, lately,” she said. They slowly, and quietly finished eating dinner.

“Does this all seem like something,” she asked, hesitating. “Something we’ve done before?”

Loop the Loop