Tuesday, September 14, 2010

this is the nicey-nicest chapter so far

& those of you who want mayhem and fucking and anarchy and violence and smashed storefronts and thanksgiving stuffed snatches avert your jaded eyes cos in this chapter Homegirl gets all disneyfied.

the blissiness of the domestic.

a respite from pissiness.

pretty pretty princess Homegirl!

this chapter comes a few chapters after "A little bitch," what's up @ Sleep. Snort. Fuck. So if you want sexing, you want cuntings and cockings, fistings by the oceanside, drug addictions and celibacy, you want vengeance, you want some damn scaryfine writings go there.

Homegirl + Punkboy sitting in a...

When he saw Homegirl sitting alone on his couch, Punkboy was all like, What are you doing here?

Homegirl raised her glass. Drinking, she said.

Punkboy looked at her and was so glad she wasn’t wearing that goddamned stained lingerie anymore. He didn’t say anything, tho, just let his messenger bag fall to the floor from his hand. He was tired. Bonedogtired. He sat down next to Homegirl and she handed him her drink. He finished it, poured another, took a long gulp and handed it back to her.

He didn’t want to fight and he didn’t even know if he was still mad. If the anger had only been posturing, a way to propel himself away from that pathetic version of Homegirl that he never wanted to see again. The Homegirl with the bloodied merry window and the vacant look and the sorrow. The Homegirl that didn’t fight back; that acted like she deserved that fucked-up shit.

He wanted his feisty bitch back; he wanted his feisty bitch and he would wait.

She took a long swallow of bourbon from the glass and handed it back to him.

They were quiet on the couch.

Punkboy’d thought about finding out who leased the flat where he’d recovered Homegirl that night. What’d he do to those responsible and how far he’d go. He didn’t own any weapons and he didn’t want to, but he did know a bunch of beefy beer-bellied Miltown skaters and punks. They’d be down with beating the shit out of someone who done what’d been done to Homegirl.

His girl: Homegirl.

He didn’t want to think about it right now, tho; he wanted to sit here in the dark quiet, on this couch, not have to talk, not have to do anything, and share bourbon from a highball glass with his girl.

He could tell Homegirl felt the same way; they sat there for hours, their bodies touching slightly, their hands brushing each other’s as they passed the glass back and forth. Then they went to bed to sleep in each other’s arms.

& it was good & quiet & the darkness was a good, quiet darkness. The darkness was a tamed dog curled sleeping at their feet; the darkness did not bark or growl or thrash about or lunge at them, for once.

Cos Homegirl & Punkboy need some peace every now & then,

P.S. Excited to be part of the launching of a brand new mag, Bourbon Penn; gots a story coming out in the first issue. The story's gots nothing to do with Homegirl & Punkboy & everything to do with kewpies and Tupac, cos he ain't dead, bitches!

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