“I’ll get you more beer,” she murmured as she kissed him on his sweaty forehead, the screen door slammed shut, and she never came back. He waited for hours. At first it wasn’t so bad: he watched a baseball game and then he took a nap. When he awoke from his apricot dreams, the streetlights had come on, the heat had broken, and the hum of the crickets had pressed in through the screen doors. There might still be a few cold bottles in the fridge. But she wasn’t coming back.
Subway MapSubway Philosophy is about New York, culture, sex, publishing, memories, alcohol, or a combination of the above. Originally taken from drunken musings on the subway, it has evolved into something extraordinarily similar to most young blogs: which is to say, redundant, romantic, and woefully introspective.
Current Subway ReadingWhite Teeth