He tugged at her sleeve. ‘How much?’ The clerk pointed at the the price tag, ‘$1.00’ in alphanumerals. ‘But I can’t read Chinese,’ he said.

Early memories of a soft spoken sea, where heavy leaves float on its tense surface, frozen in time.

Brewing nausea in my gut/ Churning a burrito wrapped with guilt/ Soon it will come out the butt/ Wiped away with a paper quilt.

Slow sleeping in this asphyxiated skin, as ashen as an asphalt grin.

Making rules on the fly, we dealt the cards with whimsy not deft. ‘In Jamaica they call it Solo.’ I nodded, pouring more in her cup to win.

She called to say it’s snowing. ‘Did you know that?’ I nodded and hung up.

Your morning static awaits. Once that shower ends he’s back. Then comes reality alone. Like I said. Static.

Her daughter, in full leopard winter wear, looked a little too comfortable nestled at the bottom of that foldable pushcart.

‘Sassy cupcakes,’ they called me. So I threw the rest of the frosting away and left.

She walks backwards into full trains, betting people will step away and lead her to a seat. She guesses right.

‘It is always nice to see you,’ hums the nurse behind the pap smear. To the balls goes the catheter; I am thinking of your voice.

The restless sadness of our platonic sleep. Like a spork losing the last of its tines.

‘Peter Parker,’ she called his haircut. ‘No,’ I said, taking another good look. ‘Winona Ryder after going down on a Sigourney symbiote.’

I waved across the eatery and moved over. ‘How goes?’ I asked, placing my cutlery down. ‘Better ever since they drained my colostomy pouch.’

The rain offended Mrs. Lee, since it was laundry day and she had her umbrella on tumble-dry low. ‘Ai-ya,’ she said, shaking her wet head.