The seahorses are out, and I can’t get a read because seahorses and shells are for special occasions, also for guests. I sing, “All I want for Christmas is a bar of Dial,” because that’s a soap that says, “Wash your hands sweetheart, dinner’s in a minute,” but seahorses say, “Welcome to our home—don’t fucking touch me.” …
| precious little fictions in 500 words (or less). |