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Does it change anything?
a very skilled assassin
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The way she'd creep up on you and just appear from behind like some cat, you'd think she was some trained assassin or something I felt her punch my shoulder and then her other hand falling on my nape and squeezing "Hey, lucky boy. You should be so damn glad you ran into me." In the fist that hit my shoulder she held a bunch of crumpled bills and brought them before my eyes "What's that?" I said "Our tickets to the bar down the street. And you've the honor to accompany me there. Drinks are on me today. But you do owe me, don't think otherwise, okay?" "Where'd you get that money?" I asked. "Why's it so dirty?" "I stole 'em from Ol' Horn Nose while he was taking a shit." "What?" Ol' Horn Nose was the homeless guy who roamed around the block, usually begging in front of the supermarkets and pharmacies She brought the fist to her nose and smelled the bills and then shrugged "You can't be serious," I said. Of course I didn't believe her but just then the old man rounds the corner and spots us and points his crooked finger at us and screams Immediately two cops round the corner and approach us with big strides but by the time they get to us there's only me The assassin girl was gone I haven't seen her since but she does cross my mind every now and then Especially when I pay with cash at the bar
For Courage by Bogdan Dragos
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“Getting drunk to write
is stupid,”
she said,
“not to mention
utterly pathetic.”
And I said, “Yeah, I agree.”
“Good. Then
why are you drinking now?”
“Well…”
Shit, she got me. There
was nothing
I could say. I didn’t know
what the hell I was doing. There was
still so much about
existence that I
had no explanation for. I didn’t
drink for inspiration. I
didn’t need
inspiration. Just the courage
to write.
Suddenly I felt like the cowardly
lion from
The Wizard of Oz.
The poor fool wasn’t missing
courage, was he?
No, he just needed someone to
tell him that he already
had courage. It was
inside him all along.
Me, if I do drink, it’s never
for inspiration,
but rather the courage to
throw my written words
into the abyss
at editors
and publishers
and so on
I never seem to be ready
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to choose the bottle
there are many reasons a woman can say her final goodbye to you and somehow they all feel different He supposed the worst of all had to be when her final goodbye is influenced by another man made sense but that wasn't his case Also he was too drunk to think straight now. And in too much pain “It's the final goodbye,” she had said. “You chose the bottle over me, now live with the bottle. Goodbye.” Goddammit, this really hurt His dick was only getting harder and more blue stuck in the mouth of the bottle Yet still, through all the pain and the dizziness he reached for the phone and called her. He said, “Hey, I just want you to know that… It was you I had in mind when I did it. I did it while thinking of you, love.” She hung up
a woman named Cactus
high school dropout out of a job out of options soon to be out of the rented studio apartment he went to the local bar and drank himself to the point he had to vomit to make room for more and next thing he knew he was dating a woman named Cactus Life can get pretty weird when you don’t live it consciously I knew the guy and heard he moved in with his lover and started a new life I really, really hope the headline “LOCAL ALCOHOLIC DEVELOPS SCHIZOPHRENIA, DISMEMBERS GIRLFRIEND PLANTS HER LIMBS IN FLOWERPOTS, STICKS NEEDLES IN THEM” is not about him
Daydreaming as a profession 