Cleaning out the magazines







So many magazines. 
She stacked the magazines.  She sorted the magazines.  She searched for matches to burn the magazines.

The absinthe stood on the table.  The two cold glasses beaded with water droplets stood nearby.  Ice melted in the glasses.
    
"Come," he said, reaching for her.  "Come.  Rest."  He poured the green liquid.  They drank deeply.  "You have worked hard.  And now we will love hard."  And they would have except, you know, it was absinthe.

She woke two days later.  He woke one day after her. 
She was gone, as was his wallet. 
Squinting around the room, his eyes bleary, he saw two glasses on the table.  "Oh!"  He said in cheerful surprise, "Absinthe!"  Don't mind if I do."  He drank deeply.

He woke two days later.  She was gone. 
Where was he?  Should he call a cab?  He had a number in his wallet.  Where was his wallet?  What was a wallet?  His brow furrowed in concentration.  He scanned the room.  He saw the glasses on the table.  "Oh!"  He said in cheerful surprise.  "Absinthe!  Don't mind if I do."  He drank deeply.

He woke two days later.  She was gone.  Where was she?  Wait, what was a she?  What was a he?  He tried to stand, but he slipped on the glossy magazines scattered everywhere.  Were those the she?  His brow furrowed in concentration.  From the floor where he had fallen, he scanned the room.  "Oh!" He said in cheerful surprise.  "Absinthe!"

No comments:

Post a Comment