transport delivery

Transport Delivery “Thanks for not having sex with me.” There’s nothing quite like a 27 year old lover scorned. We started sleeping together when he was 24. I ended it recently for someone who is 52 and speaks French. Someone who appreciates shoes, smells like tangerines and tastes like vanilla. Certain things are worth the sacrifice. I’m on the corner of 44th Street and 3rd Avenue at 8 in the morning, when midtown is just as hopping as...

your socks

The last night I saw you was the only night my dog ever pissed on my floor. She did it while you were here doing drugs in my bathroom that were delivered by my dealer in a silver BMW about twenty minutes ago. These are things that happen in Manhattan. I’ve known you for almost two years now and you have begged and pleaded and played on the weakness my divorce cut me with and broke both of my knees. I’ve given you a lot. Too much. Things I...

mandatory retreat

mandatory retreat You show up unannounced again, three days after I say I can’t see you anymore and six weeks after we meet. I would have told you not to come. But you caught me off guard, like the day I first saw you. There are things that I do and things that I have done that you will never know. It’s why you can’t keep coming here. It’s why I never should have agreed to see you twice. You think things about me that are not true. I...

this. bitch.

this. bitch. The way she follows you is laughable. She is a painter who is seven years younger, five pounds lighter and many lifetimes of practicality unborn - than me. I have this odd way of stating things. Like how on the day we met I told you to move in with me. She doesn’t know me. But she follows me. She reads my blog. She masturbated to one of my photos. She thinks about me much more than I ever consider her. She only crossed my mind...

sunday thai

It’s just after noon in a small Thai joint somewhere in the east 30’s on the corner of Madison. I enter the establishment wearing a t-shirt with a typewriter on it appropriately labeled “writer” in courier print; a tipped Kangol hat; and a pair of men’s carpenter pants, cut to fall halfway down my muscular calves. It’s hot outside. The “shorts” once belonged to my second husband, and someone before that because they were...

wedding dresses
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