It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love. He caught a whiff as he was walking along 4 Avenue, right by the decades-old bakeshop that prides itself for being the only vegan bakery in town. Vegans, he thought. Stupid vegans.
But she was vegan, that girl. It was two years ago when they parted. He used to blame it on her decision to stop eating meat and on his adamant refusal to drink the “cruelty-free” milk that she made by soaking almonds overnight and calling the slimy muck her “dairy alternative.” Some days she used the word “substitute” — to replace, to switch, to change.
Ah, vegans. Stupid, crazy vegans.
Continue reading “Exercise #1: Opening Lines”
Warren is cute and some nights I undress him in my thoughts. We spend the awkward morning-after in the lunch room while I stand behind him and listen, patiently, to the cappuccino slowly dripping into his mug. He turns around, smiles, and the machine whirs as if begging either of us to break the silence in its stead. But he doesn’t and I don’t, and he goes back to his seat and I go back to staring at his shoulders, broad and brooding, his white shirt pristine unlike the pictures in my head, dirty as if drenched in endometrium sludge like a six-hour old tampon, the bleeding elephant in the room.
Continue reading “Flash Friction”