“No thanks,” I said.

I didn’t want to feel obliged to stop and say hello, or comment on the weather.  I had plenty of matches, free matchbooks were one of the few things left in this world that weren’t too good to be true.

“I’m going to kill someone tomorrow,” he said and lifted his sweatshirt high enough to reveal a gun blue handle protruding above his belt.

I almost responded with that’s good out of habit.  Nice weather, have a great day, can’t complain, no problem, all came to mind. I pay lip service to humanity where none exists, it makes life easier.  Feelings were for saps who believed in sea monkeys and gods who watch every step we take to punish us after death, as if the life that came before death weren't punishment enough. I load boxes into trailers bound for Kansas. I’ve never been to Kansas, but I know its zip codes. Topeka is 666, like the biblical mark of the beast. Lawrence is 660, where William Burroughs lived and died after shooting his wife square in the head. I envision treeless horizons, killer tornados, and pick-up trucks leaving trails of dust along endless flat roads. I thought about all of this in the second or two it took me to respond and the truth of the matter was, I admired Smooth Boy’s honesty.

"Sometimes it’s hard to know what’s real.” I said as he looked at the bird.

“Yeah, totally,” he said.

About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)