At some point Boris materialized, drawn to the positive vibes with his strange, predator-like way of seeking things out.
“How’s it been, man?” I asked.
“Excellent.” He cocked his head and gave an A-okay gesture, clenching together his thumb and index finger very tightly, practically pulsating, as if straining against his will to show his excellence. “I was just,” but he paused to exhale and wriggle his limbs, forcing himself to relax. “I was just goofing off with Ojas when I realized that I needed to do my own thing. Sometimes you know that you need to do you. And I know you know that, man. So I ended up walking along the water for miles – miles and miles, brotha.” Continue reading Senior Week – Chapter 12
If gravel stirs and birds cry
perched on reeds like pikes in heads
then I, too, move in the world
and I, too, shrink from strangers. Continue reading It’s not that I don’t love you.
The kitchen countertop overflowed with bottles of hard alcohol and unopened bags of red cups. The lunatics flailed their limbs wildly, dancing in the center of the main floor. Two games of beer pong were underway in the room’s corner. The scene in its entirety looked like a facsimile of 48 hours ago. Of course the music – that pervasive thump-thumping – sounded the same. Continue reading Senior Week – Chapter 11
Nathan continued laughing maniacally as Ojas crawled back into bed, promising to wake up in an hour. We returned to the living room where Phillipa and Shelly were sipping on their lattes on the same couch as before.
“Did y’all hear about Carl’s stingray incident?” Shelly asked with an ironic southern accent. “Apparently he’s in surgery now. Doctors say they’re doing all they can to keep him alive.” There was playfulness beneath her somber tone, but Nathan’s gullible frame of mind succumbed all-too easily, and his bliss transmogrified into mournful despondency. He looked pleadingly toward Shelly, hanging on her every word. Continue reading Senior Week – Chapter 10
Cries of activity from the porch interrupted my reveries. Carl, the sweet-talking politico from New Orleans, was assembling troops for a dip in the ocean.
“Gitty up mother fuckers it’s swimmin’ time!” he cried out spiritedly. Eddy trailed reluctantly, his thin French body trembling in anticipation of the water.
“Sheet man, thees will be cold as fuck,” he kept saying.
The pack descended from the porch, crossed the boardwalk, hopped over the ledge and marched through the sand, into the great ocean. I chuckled at the thought of Lewis and Clark, whose westward journey had been a bit more challenging.
Continue reading Senior Week – Chapter 6
I had to keep moving, so I danced my way across the makeshift dance floor and emerged onto the apartment’s spacious balcony. To my right, a big glass table with a dozen kids playing a drinking game; on my left, Viraj, leaning against the wall with tangible swagger. Continue reading Senior Week – Chapter 4
I once said it was the sight of sights:
A canyon of red sand and green speckled
Christmas in the flesh; cold, hard and true-
Stingy eternity! Cept that cool breeze
and hot sun handing us days Continue reading Goethe’s Death Throes