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Mike's talking about building an empire. “Ground up,” he insists. Emergency listens in quietude. Mike's intellect degrades daily, she thinks. Mike says, “The world is a vampire, I am the daylight. This isn't all there is.” Emergency lights a cigarette and stares at the kitchen's green wallpaper. “We're not doing anything with our lives,” she says. Mike munches chips and thinks about the struggles of life. He hums a song from a 1970s sitcom and considers the various elements of an empire. “We'd have to go to war,” he concludes, “many times.” Emergency refreshes her lipstick and turns on their laptop. Mike goes to the bathroom and freaks out at a cockroach stepping on his foot. “This is not all there is!” Emergency watches videos of dining lizards, pick-up artists, and Wilco. She draws a camel with her lipstick, ruining it. Mike says something stupid. Emergency calls Paul. Paul tastes her lips from thirty miles away. Emergency stuffs her purple backpack with underwear, make-up, and marijuana. Mike goes to sleep. He has to work at five in the morning. |
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“Oh, you know,” she says over the static of the jailhouse phone, “the days just aren't so magical anymore. I've been thinking too much in the past. I'm running out of money in the present. We know who our enemies are.” “Has this all been a dream? Wouldn't it be nice if we could communicate strictly in sound bites when we're being monitored like this?” I ask. “And what's so great about the five o'clock news? That dude is groady,” she informs me. “We're just so damn clever until the system catches up to us, love,” I say. “That bastard doesn't even know how to lose. It never fails itself the way we do. This is a lesson taught in cloud formations. How long until I've lost you forever? Who'll light your cigarettes or affirm your taste in mascara?” “Let's just ignore the future and listen to each other breathe awhile. Baby, I don't want to backpedal,” she says. She is consoling me. The thought of this collect call on her phone bill scares me into hanging up without another word. Allejandro the Latin King is pleased with my forfeiture of the phone. |
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P. H. Madore is usually litareview.com. |
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a l i c e b l u e t e n I S S N 1 5 5 9 - 6 5 6 7 |