She drinks a chocolate martini. I fold myself up and slide into her pocket. There I join the others. We seven in her pocket talk animatedly about space, travel and the topologies of her breasts. She pays us no mind. We organize an expedition to the opening in her shirt. We want to slide around her skin. We climb carefully in a column. When she brushes us off her hand comes like a storm. Airborne I open myself to her length. My hand hovers just over her stomach. I disappear into details. She drinks a chocolate martini. She does not know my name.
“disappear into details” – my favorite line from this delightful story.
why am i always coming in behind susan? i’ve read and loved this on fnaut and i love it here.
nothing says luck like a chocolate martini, hehe – nice
I’d never heard of a chocolate martini before, but I sure as hell want one now. :)
I’m now getting more visuals with this round of readings. I can almost see these words as captions to cartoons. I think that might be a function of the independence of the sentences which read as if there is other info that is present but not divulged.
nice. thanks for the comments. i thought of this piece as a kind of light thing, a throwaway nearly. but folk seem to like it, so maybe it’s not.
guy: i wanted to work little tiny sentences because the space within which this happens is really small. and the incident in my imagination that started all this was also very small. using the little sentences was a way to stretch it out. plus they made me laugh. hope they do that for you too.
Pingback: Week #18 – Lucky Number « 52|250 A Year of Flash