Great new(ish) stories from around the Web. Forget work for a minute and read a story. It’s good for you.
– “Sex is like air,” somebody once said. “You don’t think about it unless you’re not getting enough of it.” Well, Mortimer tried not to think about it but he felt downright inundated. It seemed like everybody wanted to talk to him about it. They called him on the phone, accosted him in restaurants, and wrote notes to him on pilfered hotel stationery. He felt overwhelmed by this constant harassment. — Henry F. Tonn in Front Porch Journal
– Later, the bank teller wouldn’t give me an account balance because I forgot my wallet on the nightstand. “It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” I said. “Can you really be so fascist at this hour?” The teller looked in the direction of what appeared to be the manager cage. I thought for a moment and decided that instead of causing a huge fuss, I’d just show the teller my metaphor. “Do you see this?” I said. — Christopher Higgs in Bust Down The Door And Eat All The Chickens
– My third grade teacher (we’ll call her Alice) said we were having a math test. I told her great hockey players don’t need math tests. She said she would call my parents and wouldn’t let me move on to fourth grade if I didn’t take the test. I tried to sit down, but the desk was too small and I fell over. The other kids in the class laughed. I warned them that I was a great hockey player. They laughed harder. When Alice gave me the test, I crumpled it up and tossed it towards the trashcan. It fell in with a swish. — Krammer Abrahams in Pequin
– He walks toward her without another word and tries to kiss her, but she stops him with a wave of her palm and a sharp turn of her head. The first thing she says is that there are other people who like her. Other guys. She feels she has to advertise this because he has never told her she’s pretty. The nicest thing he has ever said to her is that he now thinks about her when he masturbates. This is the sentiment she keeps in her mind when she thinks of him now. He likes to fuck her but he has never told her she looks good to him. — Kathryn Sanders in decomP
– February. A misty gray Sunday morning. Emerald was wearing her dress. The preacher was dancing down the aisle, he said the church was tingling with the Holy Spirit. An angel had visited him in a dream the night before and told him that something magnificent was going to happen in the church today, that there was going to be singing, dancing, clapping, tambourines, organ, glorifying the Lord. In the middle of a solo, Emerald, silenced the church. — Jeff Lacy in Storyglossia
