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Archive for September, 2011

Who are those guys?

Chapter 2 - John and I walked toward Clive’s studio apartment surrounded by a comfortable silence that best friends can afford. The palm trees lining the sidewalks glistened under the street lamps. The mist slipped off the leaves like oil taking the light in each drop of dew. I even noticed the paw prints of a cat that had walked in the freshly poured concrete years before. I would have never remembered such things had I not gone up those old enamel-navy-blue-sun-bleached-rotted-out-soggy-wooden stairs.


DJ is

Chapter 4: That is what the DJ did. He was like a conductor ploughing emotions through us with the beat of his musical knowledge; one instant everything was calm, dreamy, melancholic and then BANG the rhythm accelerated until you were sure you could take no more and you gesticulated your limbs like you never thought possible.


Party turns.

Chapter 10 : We basked in a plethora of women during what came to be known, between John and me, as the Pussy Turns. We were kings. We had found the stone in the cake and we were chewing it until it cracked.


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Wild Man

Chapter 34 : So my dear psychobabble Liam, I have enjoyed strutting along these sentences with you. I hope I have given you enough time to read this far. I’ll drop this off at your office tomorrow as I leave for a small road trip. I’ll call you in exactly two weeks when I’m blasting El Nino from the beginning. When the song reaches the life-turning threshold you will cease to exist and I will be on my way.


Hoberman dude # 3

. The thick slick haired Hoberman–sphere-holding-guy was near us expanding a universe between his fingers while a friend stared as if he was seeing the big bang and big crush at once.


Red lights.

Chapter 32: I wandered the streets and alleys like a mouse following the scent of cheese hovering over the labyrinth. Amidst the remnants of a Saturday night washed up on the shores of a Sunday morning I found more reasons to end my existence. The crippled beggar wheeling himself between red lights was still there. Nothing had changed. In spite of the early morning commotion of South Beach a man lay sleeping on the concrete sidewalk with one arm as a pillow and the other extended with an open palm looking for donations.