Take each past, combine it with its present.
—Jack Spicer
Arlene was licking the gloss that coated her lips
when Harold, to whom she’d never been properly introduced
made his way from her peripheral vision
and ever so slowly her way until, once directly in front of her, he
pivoted toward her and for a few seconds looked at her directly, and she stared
into the
wells of his brown eyes. Locked socket to socket, the
two of them now connecting in this awkward and sudden way, she found herself
immobile. Then he stuck out his tongue, pivoted back and walked out of sight until he
vanished in the opposite periphery of her horizon from that which he had appeared.
March of the Pig
wells of his brown eyes. Locked socket to socket, the
two of them now connecting in this awkward and sudden way, she found herself
immobile. Then he stuck out his tongue, pivoted back and walked out of sight until he
vanished in the opposite periphery of her horizon from that which he had appeared.
March of the Pig
