The Story of...

This is so near the anniversary of Love's demise, that I felt it necessary to write a little piece about it. Not so much prose as a description, I hope you enjoy it.

So there we stood, arm in arm, hand in hand, or hand in wings if you can see the full picture. She had ebony wings, leather to the touch, and a song that was otherwise incredible. Her then-beautiful face smiled to me as I'd smile back, but they weren't one and the same. One was genuine, the other a guise, a tool of manipulation. Who wore which? Well watch them and take a guess as to which was in control, then observe the other. You're wrong in your choice, isn't that a surprise?

So there I was, just flipping dollars out of my wallet into some hole, and she was there batting here eyelashes. I don't know if she was batting them because I dropped a dollar or if I was dropping dollars because she was making those eyes that I just couldn't resist or if I kept doing it because I was already invested, but at that moment she had the upper hand. But that's not what she wanted, silly boy, you've just squandered yourself some grade-D sex.

Tsk tsk tsk.

So now you're back at her place, and the estrogen is so thick in the air that it stings the back of your nostils. One thing leads to another and by the end of the night you've thrown yourself to reality and covered your tracks at least fifty times, and then fifty more. You can take it, that's the long and short of it. But you have to take it, it's not going to come to you.

Then that lack of effort sets in.

And then you think you're crushed, and you think you've hit the bottom of the barrel.

Exerpt from "The Story of How I Saved My Neck and Chopped Off Another".