I see the maple-walnut cookies I ate last night, stretching across my ribs in a layer of fat which then pools in the pouch of my lower abdomen, collecting in the hips that swell over the band of the underwear that I bought during a time when I was thinner.
Monkeys don’t speak English and the hairy little creatures with their tough young muscles swing around in their chairs, throwing excrement-coloured things and shrieking laughter.
There’s a dead ant in her cream cheese bagel, but she can’t find the energy to care. It’s ant season after all, sometimes these things can’t be helped. Extra protein, right? Other cultures eat ants all the time. The air is cold and her heart thrums in her chest with the weight of her To Dos, … Continue reading Ant Season
He leaves food lying around now, and that’s great great but he doesn’t as much anymore with the petting or the playing.