|
{a test} matthew e. henry would you look at this nigger lover (the evening was officially over: my girlfriend’s lack of melanin could not escape the notice of the cro-magnon swaying before our booth). wanna go home with a real man? (his hirsute forearms invade our space toppling her raspberry iced tea: i merely raise an eyebrow and calculate each costly drop. due to our newfound closeness i can almost taste his liquid dinner: so long as no one lights a match we should all be fine, besides i am not intimately involved in this conversation: i have not been called on . i will not raise my hand.) well how ‘bout it? (she looks to me, but my attention is still rapt in the iced tea strobe effect puddling about his jackboot. she shifts, uncertain and i glance at her, him, then back to the lost sticky sweetness.) |
