Leave it to a wigged friend to help an imperialist in need. Leave it to a deft friend to help a martinet in need. Leave it to a ripe friend to help an orator in need. Leave it to a coiffed friend to help a rifleman in need. He stacked the sentences one atop the other, masonry of a sort that produced at best one wall, at worst a heap of forsaken bricks, and then went off to meet her. He knew that at some point during the evening — the first drink, the second, the small bits shoved into mouths during gaps in the headlong conversation, the taxicab ride, the hand on top of hand, the body under body — she would fix what he had already eagerly ruined. Leave it to an old friend to help a paragraph in need.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
No comments:
Post a Comment