fishbeer

Feb 22 2011 8:54 pm

your demonym

No rhyme or reason.  No secret.  No hidden mechanism.  Don’t get in its way.  That fucker’ll eat you.  Eat you without regret and won’t shit out your memory.  Bones and all.  Bones and all.


Where you’re from.  That’s something.  That’s something to hang your hat on.  The food?  The accent?  Your demonym.  Wear it proud. 


The smell of whiskey and amphetamines on his sweat.  Makes his breath seem downright flowery even with his brown teeth, the wad of chew in his lip, the way he stands really close to you and spits a little when he talks.  The faded and torn camo jacket.  The five day beard.  He’s excited.  Happy you looked him in the eye.  Happy for someone to talk to.  Mistake on your part but it’s too late now.  Just stand there, nod, yes, that’s it, get it out you meth addled fuck. 


What happened to you?  Yes I did see you walking down the highway with a stringer full of rotten salmon.  Yes I saw that you saw me and yes I kept driving.  Why didn’t I pick you up?  Because anything we had ended in high school dude.  In fact I can tell you exactly when things ended between us: it was a Friday in the fall and I was a junior and you were a senior and we were drinking in the dirt lot after the game and the cops came and everybody ran and we ended up in the woods next to each other and you were all fucked up and tried to take my wallet.  Remember?  I punched you in the fucking mouth.

 

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