i'd write next to her doing a crossword puzzle. we've run out of toilet paper
again and there's a cockroach the size of a cork busting ass across the floor.
she's complaining about me being there again. it's friday night and she's
going to see kid rock on a pretend double date. single digits outside and
snow everywhere. it's just fiction i tell myself. all of it's just as true as i tell
her.
she's wearing leather pants and she looks sexy and she won't let me buy her
a diet sprite, even when she's sick. i feel like a dog at the pound about to be
put to sleep.
"see ya later."-she says.
"bye"– i answer.
and i write that down. i stare at the television set and roller blades i'll be
leaving behind. i wait up for her until i give up trying. it's her turn to be the
dick now.