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ra, kastro, r u still down, james morrison (ii), laz alonso, zakk, culture: humor and satire, clarence williams iii, abortion, e cards, astronomy, christian slater, In the dark, I by jill soloway can’t see the gray fog, and by jill soloway this weedy dump in the middle of nowhere could almost be pretty. But only because I can’t see it. I look right, down the highway that leads into Houston. For no fucking reason, I start thinking about the jogger. I was sitting behind the counter watching the Astros get beat on the by jill soloway ten-inch security television. If I had been using the security camera, I would have seen him come up, but I wasn’t. So I turned when I heard the glass doors slide open. Dripping wet, he stood in the door for a minute and let the AC hit him, that broke-ass AC that floods the back room once a week. It works though. He bought a Gatorade for $1.12. I handed him back three quarters, a dime, and three pennies. In front of the counter, he ripped the plastic cap off.
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This entry was posted on Friday, August 19th, 2005 at 1:04 pmand is filed under Screeenwriting Stuff. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed. Comments are closed. 2005 zakk Joshua James. All rights reserved. zakk Site by Bayt & Takl Powered by WordPress Entries (RSS) and Comments (RSS). Harvard Summer Review The Harvard Summer School Writing Program issue ten, summer 2004 Previous | Contents | Next The Pay Phone Ashleigh Phillips Madre Mía, I’ve done this shit so many times I don’t have to think about it anymore. Lock the cash register. Turn off the lights. Lock the doors. And it’s the same as every other night. I stand on the sidewalk in front of the 7-Eleven with Al. Tonight we aren’t talking. We smoke our Marlboros and stare past the gas station. It’s quiet out here, only the buzz of the lights and the chirping of crickets. We’re just far enough outside the city to escape the noise, not far enough to escape the smog.
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