He had just watched a depressing French movie about an elderly guy forced to provide medical care as best he could for his wife, who had been ravaged by a stroke.
The subject of old people and their care punched a bruise in Dan’s brain. He had one living parent: an alcoholic, dysfunctional mess of a man who seemed to be going through the stages of mummification, though still breathing....
He would never die, Dan often thought while cradling himself to sleep, because evil like that does not die.
But according to the next door neighbor, the Punch Happy Prick was now pissing his pants and confusing the mail carrier with a hooker, and this left Dan with a heavy feeling.
Eddie walked to the edge of town, where the brabbles grow, before the others were awake. He brought a cup of hot coffee from home (single origin, direct trade, organic, light roast) in a cup he stole from Eddie #2, and a pączki filled with the dreams of a huckleberry plant. His plan was to eat the pączki in the brabble field, to dip it in the piping hot beverage he had brought so the sensual liquid soaked through to the huckleberry dreams inside, releasing their silky aroma of lovers regrets.
“Take small bites, Eddie,” he reminded himself, like he had learned in pączki-eating class. “Let the sweet dough disintegrate between the roof of your mouth and your tongue, eyes closed, as the brabbleflies awake, the aria of their morning light surrounding you, filling your heart with the sense of wonder you have lost.”
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Posted in Featured Fiction
The Chief sat behind his plywood desk, sopping sweat from his greasy forehead with a Dunkin’ Donuts napkin. The man was a wet cookie dough sausage with a pushbroom moustache and a bulldog’s temper.
He slammed a doughy fist down and pointed his index hot dog right in my face.
“You’re going to do this story for me, Ace. You’ll do it, or you’ll never work in this town again.”
“I’m done with this town and done with the paper and done with you,” I told him. “I’ve seen too much filth and eaten too much grit out of the gutters of these mean streets to see this thing through to the bitter end.”
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