yearofstories:

"You think I could fit in that straw?"

Greg continues to explore between the cushions. It’s been weeks since he’s moved from the couch, surviving off found crumbs. Which is fine, but he’s getting annoying.

"Hey buddy, have you thought about getting a job?" I ask him.

He turns to me and his eyes light up.

"Damn straight I have!" He brushes a pubicly curly hair off himself. "I put in an application at this temp agency and I’m waiting for… actually, could you check the mail?"

I brought the mail in earlier and noticed a letter for Greg from an address I didn’t recognize. Also, he never gets mail, so that was strange in itself. I get up and get the letter from the kitchen counter.

"Yeah man, there’s something here for you, probably from them. Want me to open it?"

"Please, I don’t have the energy. Read it to me."

I open the letter and start, “‘Dear Mr. Earthstone’… Earthstone?”

"I liked how it sounded both contemporary and Dark Ages-y"

"You’re… ‘Thank you for submitting your application. After careful review of it and assessment of your qualifications, we believe the following available job opportunities are well suited to your abilities: shoelace’… Alright, this is…"

"I’m not long enough, next."

He’s too invested for me to convince him this is clearly some kind of insanely bizarre joke. So, on I soldier.

"Pipe cleaner."

"Can’t hold my shape that long."

"Straw."

"Not hollow enough. Just send them this one."

"Michael Cera’s mustache."

"It’d be an improvement, but I couldn’t take being under that nose all day."

"Fake booger"

"I’ll sleep on that one. Aight, I’m gonna go cover myself in toothpaste. That shit’s inteeeense."

I follow my heart,
held inside.
It goes not,
and I too stay.
Asking for escape,
it beats.
It goes not,
knows not,
but grows and slows not.

06-09-2014: Camp counselor realizing her own mortality while introducing the next activity

yearofstories:

"We’re all going to dye."

06-08-2014: Sleeping with a celebrity

yearofstories:

I slept with a celebrity. Unfortunately, I was six years old and it was Gary Glitter.

yearofstories:

"I only have money for one, so Fritos or Bugles?"

Greg considered his two options with the intensity of an action movie character deciding which wire will deactivate the bomb.

"OK, um… like, Fritos taste better, but they’re not very comfortable and the salt gets all over me. But Bugles, now, I can wear like a hat."

"And I can do witch fingers. OK, done."

With Greg perched on my shoulder, we walked towards the counter from the back of the store. He noticed me notice a bag of gummy worms.

"Hey, um, you can get those instead… if you want. I know you like them."

"Are you sure, bub? I thought it might be weird after last time."

"Nah, it’s fine. Go for it, man."

I bought a bag of gummy worms a couple weeks ago. I had left the bag open on the ottoman in the living room, and when I remembered them later, I grabbed the package and shortly after, I found Greg in the bag, wrapped around a few of them and moaning. I… we haven’t talked about it.