Uncle Vick and I are hanging out at his house. His girlfriend, Kwan, is here with us. They just finished the loudest love-making I have ever heard. They scared the birds off the power lines outside and made the neighbors dog bark for forty minutes.
Kwan says blogs are just a bunch of people writing about their favorite TV shows, and making lists of the "100 things that drive them crazy" and dumbshit self-absorbed crap like that. I think she's bitter because Uncle Vick doesn't love her anymore.
"How can you type without your two left fingers?" she just asked.
I'm grinning back at her. "Same way you can let Vick fuck you without his loving you."
"He's a murderer," she's saying.
And we are both just watching each other now. I guess, wondering why we're both at this house on a hot summer Sunday with the man out in the living room.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment