This piece was published in the Flash Fiction Forum Vol.1 anthology. And for some reason they let me read it in front of a bunch of people at a gallery. Buy a copy here.
"SWAGGA STUPID"
The Girl You’re in Love With asks you to buy her a beer. But you never get anywhere with her so you say Fuck no and buy one for yourself.
Two girls are talking to some dude who pulls one to the dance floor. You swoop in on the other one. Her hair is on swank but her smile is on smash. You introduce yourself. She smiles and touches your leg when you sit down. Her name is Courtney with a “K” and she’s a talk box.
It’s too loud to hear everything you say but from what you gather the banter is adequate. You do this thing where you act like you already know you’re made for each other: How about we go to marriage counseling with a priest knowing nothing but each other’s names?
You don’t buy drinks for a girl the same night you meet her but since The Girl You’re in Love With is watching you make an exception and order a couple shots. You put in a little more work on Courtney with a “K” and have her on the dance floor a few minutes later. She dances like she’s never seen a boy before. You make out a few times and she asks you to walk her home. You say you don’t want to go far. She says she lives a block over. You oblige. On the way out you walk by The Girl You’re In Love With so she knows you’re leaving with that little claptrap.
You get to Courtney with a “K”’s place and she asks if you have a rubber. You tell her no one needs a raincoat on Flag Day. After, you have that post-coital buzz where you feel like you can punch a police car into the sky. You thank her for the evening in as many words and walk down to the street. You hail a cab and make for Jamaica Plain. Once you’re in the neighborhood but not quite where you need to go the fare meter reads twenty-eight but you only have a ten. You fold it up, hand it over saying it’s thirty, and book it through backyards, hopping fences.
Once you’re satisfied the cabbie won’t find you, you take out your phone to figure out how to walk the rest of the way to your friend’s place to crash. It’s getting late and your mind is on The Girl You’re in Love With. You text I want yo throat to bug her. If she isn’t going to love you, you want to feel like it’s on your terms.
Your friend’s place is dark. The house breathes when you open the back door. You take a piss, chug a glass of water and sit on the futon. You lie back and replay all the night’s good parts. Soon you’re asleep in that foreign bed having the same dreams you always did.