
CAN’T YOU SEE YOU’RE THE HERO HERE? by Jeffrey Hermann
My presentation at the co-working space was a smash, meaning afterward people smashed the windows with rocks.
My presentation at the co-working space was a smash, meaning afterward people smashed the windows with rocks.
My 7th grade English teacher was just three toddlers stacked on top of each other. The middle toddler googled every question we asked on an iPhone. You could see it through his shirt, star-bright.
The world felt like something awful impending. June gloom had set in early; Mercury was back in retrograde. Everyone was jittery, uncertain, a little gun shy.
A rainbow is feeling down, suicidal even. It takes some pills and a bottle of gin to a park, ready to end it all.
It’s 5:34 am and John Wayne is singing to his horse. The shoot is behind schedule; they’ve gone all night. Wayne’s singing voice will be dubbed over.
That’s the Way of the Boss. That’s the Way of the Boss! Well, fuck.
You can tell yourself anything you want about yourself, even if it’s not true yet, and eventually it will be. Maybe.
It was an easy thing, that winter, to realize that you were not, in fact, you—rather you were the untitled, draft email of yourself, addressed to no one.
But the product of this was both gushy and vain. Embarrassing. It was easy to read his real interest, which was carnal, puckered.
On break, he spoke to us through the order box. The sun warming our necks, we tossed French fries to seagulls and smelled the electric static on his breath.