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BIGGER

SMALLER

COURIER

GEORGIA

TIMES

VERDANA

COMIC

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POPULAR

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 ^{(it's beta!)}

A pair of socks on a listerine linoleum floor. Barely hear it over the ticka tack ticka tack. Looking out the window, it’s raining now (A face smiles softly).

He grabs his boxers from the top of the ‘fridge and puts them on, shaking off a couple of cigarette butts. He opens the door and pulls out a carton of orange juice with one sock (sizes thirteen through sixteen) and a hat (it’s not his, but the sock is) stuck on top. He drinks from the carton, but he spits it out, peering in to find more cigarette butts (what’s with you and people and cigarettes? Jeez. Get over yourself). Brushing the fog of cannabis and smoke by with the brim, he finds the coffee pot (Full. Questionably so) by an oven that had been euthanized by a salad fork (it had been talking smack the night through) and, surprise surprise, cigarette butts. Oh, he thinks. Oops. Looking down, he sees an elbow. Elbow (A fair elbow, one that was a little rough, from leaning and daydreaming on the sides of bridges and on tables in restaurants with languidly slow service and on desks in classrooms hosting seminars with no application in the real world, but a fair elbow nonetheless). He looks on to what’s connected to the elbow. Oh, he thinks. Oops. He would have done something. Scream, most likely, but there were people still sleeping, still flushed. He sighs. He would have helped her out. If she had asked. He would’ve (no) yes (no) yes (no) yes. Yes.

He washes his face in the kitchen sink, the cigarette butts floating in between the images of his face. He stares at him. I told you (A face shrugs, however that would happen. Oh well. Guess you were right). That’s what she was trying to say. Asstk-mattk. Ass-ma. (Asthma. Of course). Wouldn’t have stopped anyway.

He fits the hat back onto his head. Walking through the living room, he puts on a jacket (also not his. Was it the girl’s? Written inside is an address somewhere far), meaning to leave, but stops to retrieve and drink from the coffee pot (thankfully, no cigarette butts). At the door, he looks back and swear to God (god?) he can see her, pale and insecure as she was seventeen hours ago (though not quite as pale). The door doesn’t close.

Brevity and a single person laughing. Barely hear it over the ticka tack ticka tack. Looking into the window, you can see the smoke still remains (A face smiles softly).