Here’s another in that series of smaller flash fiction pieces I submitted to a magazine in 2014. It’s rather similar to another piece I wrote here.

Spiraling cesspools of excrement, we were, collected into a bag of bones, presented like bastardized Michelangelo statues under fluorescent gymnasium lights. Hard-on’s on-demand. Viagra in the punch bowl. Father Time’s rubbing oil on his ashy body.

Love me, love me not, and kiss my scar tissue.

Veins seared under dull skin; the bullshit pastries table had become my refuge. Reunions are for saps. Slurp, slurp, slurp.

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