July 28, 2007

. . .

Posted by dean at 04:37 PM

July 25, 2007

The Apartment Had Old Wood And Electronics, And It Smelled Like A Wasteland.

On the door of the refrigerator, a take-away coupon hung under a webcomic-magnet, next to a photograph of foam shoes and an unmailed postcard of Shanghai.

Along the bottom trim of the walls, brick-outline wallpaper ended against stacks of science journals, empty children's cereal boxes, and a hard carpet with speckles of paint and pasta stains.

This couldn't be where it happened.

There was only one working light, in the bedroom, which went on as soon as we moved.

Posted by dean at 08:17 PM

July 18, 2007

Good Sleeves / Bad Songs.



July 12, 2007

A Finger In The Gas-Tank And The Whole Block Lit Up, A Cloud Of Red And Orange And White.

As soon as there were yells, they lodged themselves out of a stare and legged it towards the others, who found escape over the hills, dressed in black-lace tights and vintage roller-skates.

Sirens and staff were on the way, but they'd never find a trace.

They'd look for the wrong thing.

Posted by dean at 08:16 PM

July 02, 2007

A Survivor Always Has A Really Cool Dog.

"If you fraternize with your neighbors, they'll find out about your stash. And if you actually like some of them, that makes it much harder to shoot them when they show up at your door demanding that you 'share' your food.

Survivors don't network. Survivors walk a lonely bitter road. You know you're a real survivor when you haven't heard your own name spoken in so long you've forgotten what it sounds like.

Some call us mad. Some say we've lost touch with what makes us human. But so what? We survive, and that's all that matters."

Posted by dean at 06:50 PM