We Create The Illusions We

As A Kid, I Imagined Lots Of Different Scenarios For My Life. I Would Be An Astronaut. Maybe A Cartoonist. A Famous Explorer Or Rock Star. Never Once Did I See Myself Standing Under The Window Of A House Belonging To Some Druggie Named Carbine, Waiting For His Yard Gnome To Steal His Stash So I Could Get A Cab Back To A Cheap Motel Where My Friend, A Neurotic, Death-obsessed Dwarf, Was Waiting For Me So We Could Get On The Road To An Undefined Place And A Mysterious Dr. X, Who Would Cure Me Of Mad Cow Disease And Stop A Band Of Dark Energy From Destroying The Universe.

Harold Brodie Is A Louse And A Lothario Who Cheats At Cards And Has A Different Girl In His Rumble Seat Every Week. That Coupe Of His Is Pos-i-tute-ly A Petting Palace. And He’s A Terrible Kisser To Boot.” Evie’s Parents Stared In Stunned Silence. “or So I’ve Heard.

My Misery Is Reaching Epidemic Proportions.

I Can See His Pain, See It In The Way He Runs His Fingers Through His Hair, Over And Over, And I Understand What It Costs Him To Hide It All.

Did They Find Something Wanting In You, Gemma, At The Party? You Didn’t Speak Too Freely Or Behave…strangely?” I Grew Claws And Bayed At The Moon. I Confessed That I Eat The Hearts Of Small Children. I Told Them I Like The French.