
IF SHE WERE AN ANIMAL by Cameron Darc
He fondles a piece of charcoal and looks at me before touching the paper. The line makes a limp imitation of a spine. A nose appears.
He fondles a piece of charcoal and looks at me before touching the paper. The line makes a limp imitation of a spine. A nose appears.
At first everyone blamed the smoke on the war, then the steel plant, and, finally, the water. But Ong Hai says it’s not water but grief at the bottom of the sea.
Those twins out of St. Paul are doing some live podcast tour about living without lungs but that’s easy, the no lungs thing.
You’re too busy thinking about the bag that held your common sense, dignity, and your partner’s trust in you, the bag that’s undoubtedly getting further away the longer you sit here.
His physique is quite distressing. It is not something I like to observe.
Oh, the bear came with the house, I lied. The Lord hates a lying tongue, the pastor said.
Rolling down the window, I decipher through the breeze, Listen, I think we need to stop this. Hours ago, you had my breasts in your hands. OK, whatever, it’s fine, I said.
People—and I mean even absolute strangers—they’ll just talk and talk and talk and they expect you to listen to their whole life story. Have you ever experienced this? Do you know what I mean?
The thing about being in a sex shop is that you’re trying to signal with your body language *I feel cool and normal about sex.*
nevertheless i have grown tired of it already, as anyone in my situation would. anyway, i am stuck. hand looks bad.