Pulp

Sometimes a phone made me think of an elephant turd. You know, all the shit you hear. A phone is a phone but what comes through it is another matter.

Everytime you open your mouth you say something wrong!”
“I’m not wrong.”
“There you see! You did it again!”

It wasn’t my day. My week. My month. My year. My life. God damn it.

“In the old days,” he said, “writers’ lives were more interesting than their writing. Now-a-days neither the lives nor the writing is interesting.”

I capped the bottle, put it back in the drawer and wondered what I was going to do next. A good dick always has things to do. You’ve seen it in the movies.

“Belane, are you nuts?”
“Who knows? Insanity is comparative. Who sets the norm?”

Look at the movie stars, they took the skin from their ass and stuck it on the face. The skin on the ass was the last to wrinkle. They all walked around in their later years with buttock faces.

I got lost somehow, began staring up her legs. I was always a leg man. It was the first thing I saw when I was born. But then I was trying to get out. Ever since I have been working in the other direction and with pretty lousy luck.

Her voice sounded quite sexy. I had been lonely for some time. Decades.