This house has too many of them, I said one night, after I’d gone on a spider genocide. You reminded me again, that we had chosen the basement bedroom, and this was the consequence. "Why do you do that?" I asked, as I climbed onto the stool and up to the platform of our bed.... Continue Reading →
In the mornings, I avoided the thought, when I woke on the warm side of a bed and later, as the dog scratched at the door. Breakfast, he begged. God damn – take a breath Juno, we moaned back, our faces pressed into pillows. The familiarity of our life – I wanted to preserve. To... Continue Reading →
It's 20 past the hour when I finally throw open the door to the restaurant we agreed to meet. He's easy to spot, his long, braided hair setting over his right shoulder; I see him through the window walking up, and glide past the hostess stand with a signal that implies 'I know where to... Continue Reading →
I met my ex fiance last night at a restaurant we used to frequent when we didn't feel like cooking. We were reviewing the papers, beside one another, and I was chewing on the knuckle of my index finger. How is it so hard to close a bank account? I muttered. Hey, he whispered, reaching... Continue Reading →
You said "take them all" when I left, which made us both smile, through gritted teeth. Keep the couch, I offered. When you didn't respond: YOU’RE WELCOME, I enunciated. You hate this couch, you said. It reminded you we had no money. You called it the ‘cum-couch’. It belonged to college students. Of course it’s... Continue Reading →
Lindsey Hall Writes 