Even in mid-February the sign on the upholstery shop across the street from the methadone clinic still read, “Jesus is the Reason for the Season,” so Kaitlyn passed time waiting for the clinic to open by picturing Jesus, beard and all, in a little cherubic outfit, complete with wings and sash and diaper and bow and quiver and heart-tipped arrows. The image made her smile absently to herself, and distracted her, so she didn’t hear the dealer sidle up behind her.
A drunk approaches a policeman and says his car has been stolen. The cop asks where the last place he saw the vehicle was. “Right here at the end of my key,” the drunk says, holding a ring of them up. “Okay,” says the cop, “but you might want to zip up your fly before we go looking for it.” “Damnit!” says the drunk, glancing downward, “they got my girl, too!” – ghost of Townes Van Zandt; Mission Beach, San Diego; 2000 A.D.
My ex-wife, who never bothered to legally become “ex,” let herself into my apartment with my extra key and slid into bed with me. She Continue reading Per Your Request By Tom Hoisington