December 29, 2011

The Fool, The Spy, The David

David or, more accurately, The Fool, crawled down an empty downtown street to somewhere even more downtown. He was a spy. His friends didn’t know this. Neither did his colleagues. Right under their noses he inhabited a double life. All these years he had waited at his desk for a signal. David waited for a signal and with that signal the name of a betrayer.

David rationalizes his persistent solitude.

David, usually with dick in hand (because it was a particularly enjoyable fantasy), had played it out: the moment when he would come face-to-face with his opponent, someone he knew and someone he didn’t like. The encounter would prove David’s exceptional martial arts training. The art of subduing with a mere pen. The women in his office would see this miraculous transformation and desire David. The men would envy him.

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December 3, 2011

The Pile of Stuff That Was My Life

“This will be my gift to you,” said the girl. “I’m giving your apartment a deep clean.”

“That sounds great,” said David, concerned. “But don’t go nuts.”

David finally tries to let go of a few kitchen utensils.

The girl had semi-moved in, semi in that she was looking for her own place to live, having had enough of downtown Chicago’s pristine desolation. But the move was taking its toll. She was setting up in New York with no job, little money, and a half-finished novel. A cat and a dog were moving to New York, too. And a MacBook Pro, which received affection equal to or greater than the pets.

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