/ Place, and Time

I absolutely cannot tolerate spending time with someone when they treat you unnaturally nice without telling you they snuck a peak at your medical records and misunderstood lying for dying. The dénouement is hopelessly comical as you are trying to enjoy your red curry 4 out of 5 when you thought 5 meant NOT HOT AT ALL, which is why you should always say 3 when in a foreign land, and in the sincerest of eyes, she asks, 'What is wrong?'

'Oh, it's just that I get so bored fighting crime indirectly through my college and financial aid books that will hopefully lead future criminals to go into something more meaningful like political science or pharmaceuticals. I want to tackle our threats head on, like fighting zombies and illegal aliens. I want people to remember me for lines like, 'The only good zombie is a dead zombie' or 'Sir, unless one of the people hiding underneath the panels of your van is Lou Gramm, you're not understanding me.'

'I don't always understand what you say, and somehow I always liked hearing you say it.'

'Why would you say that? Now, of all times? Don't you dare be nice to me.'

'What were you looking at, out the window?'

It was a black squirrel. We had some in my grandfather's yard. They're not that uncommon, you know, but it's just one of those things you notice and then remember and then feel like it was supposed to be some meaningful part of why you grew up the way you grew up.

'I don't know. I don't remember.'

'You were staring for such a long time. I had to tap you on the shoulder so we could go on with the tour.'

It's just that he never worked my dad too hard, even though hard is how he was brought up. He tried, but maybe he thought that ugly men had no right to question the adoration of a pretty girl for her boy. He was pretty and singular, and she doted on him like he doted on those squirrels. He didn't care for his own son, that's what I was looking at.

'I was thinking about that old printing press. The way they used to bind books in those days.'

"You're not touching your food."

"You are getting so pretty."

"Stop. Give me your camera."

"Why?"

"I want to see what you kept taking pictures of."







"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live inside your head."

Sometimes he would get real quiet, like I do when you get worried. He'd have a paper opened up in front of him, but you could tell he wasn't reading anything. Weekends. They had us on weekends, that's why I can never associate him with school work and baseball games. Once, though, it was different. I think mom was sick and there wasn't any choice. We had one of those wooden model car races. They gave us little blocks of pine, and he showed me how to carve it down into something that looked like a real car. And he drilled six holes in the back, filled them with solder. Melted it right into the holes and winked at me. Painted the whole thing yellow and said, 'Tell them your dad helped you.'

"Oh, I don't know. I think the view's so much nicer outside."