— Strike three!
Some you win, some you lose. Only these days it’s more like “You
— How much?
I slide three twenties across the bar.
— See you tomorrow, Chuck.
I hate myself.
Category Archives: Guy Yasko
— Bobby! Bobby! I’m home. You call Liston yet?
Must be gone. Curtains closed. Sunlight through curtains, like when
No color. White? Blue? Not breathing.
What do you do when someone dies? Call 911? He’s already dead!
You have a drink, that’s what you do. Mark the occasion. What though?
Got what he wanted — or did he? Spite? Escape? That’s it? Ran away from
I am accustomed to sheriff’s deputies, Jehovah’s witnesses and
This caller is different:
— Do you mind if I have a look around? My happiest days were in this
I let her in. Her voice echoes off bare walls. There is nothing but
I write naked. It is too hot to do otherwise.
Tomorrow will be the same: high skies, relentless sunshine, token
My neighbours take refuge in air-conditioning and ghost stories. I
— Would you mind turning that down?
— In a minute. I’m listening.
— 80s pop was all about record company hegemony and falling microchip
— I don’t care. I like it. Try the broccoli.
— Broccoli, the easy-to-ship vegetable, the logistically-friendly
— Do you enjoy anything?
— I enjoy you.
— Do you really?
I wake to the rain on metal roof. I want coffee and breakfast, but i’m
Dexter’s books are on the dash, some half-open, spine-up. I peek. The
When i look up there is a woman at the door. She doesn’t knock. I crank
— I was looking for Dexter.
— Not here. Check his place?
— Not there either.
— Well, come in out of the rain at least.
She is drawing the hermit from Led Zepplin IV in the margin of her
I stare at her legs. Her toe rise and fall with her pulse. I look at
Mastroianni et Deneuve. Depardieu et Deneuve. Bardot et Deneuve. Une
All details of my environment are gone. All i know is that i am warm.
A voice calls my name:
— Etienne, Etienne.
Each syllable seems louder.
— Etienne, s’il vous plaît, répondez à la question.
— Umm…Je ne sais pas, Madame.