Fake Plastic Trees

"It’s tragic."

"What is?"

"How wasteful it all was. Years gone, never to be seen again. Not like they could be seen again. It’s in the past. Everything is in the past. Just like now… and now… and now. The sun won’t stop coming up."

"That’s only one way to look at it. You’re only young. There will be more times for your soul to be destroyed. But, now I am being as dramatic as you and no one wants that. This place couldn’t handle two of you."

"Maybe you’re right, on the first parts. The latter is irrelevant. There is me and only me… I’m sick of playing coy. I’m sick of the run around. I am sick of the pretending. Nothing is real anymore. I’ve been thinking for a while now that it never was. This place, these people, this life, it all feels likes fake plastic trees."

"Can’t you find anything to smile about these days? The sun still comes up. You love the sun shine."

"The only sunshine I want is the kind that slips through her pores and stumbles out of her eyes like she does when she comes home in the middle of the night."

"And who says all hopeless romantics are dead?"

They left their glass on the table as they stood up. The humidity had left remnants of perspiration. The unforgiving Florida heat doesn’t let up, even in April. These late night meets had become routine. Memphis was always talking Schuylar away from the edge of a cliff. The two had been friends. Good friends. The best of friends. Enemies. They had been through a lot. Too much, depending on who you ask.

Creature of the Night

"What’s the story morning glory?"

Light was coming in through the tears in the curtains as she tried opening her eyes. It was Tuesday morning. Or was it Wednesday? She hadn’t remembered how she got inside. The car keys and hand bag had spilled onto the floor. 10:00AM. What was there to do today?

"Do I work?" she said to herself as she tried to make sense of mess she was calling Tuesday morning. Or was it Wednesday?

"What did we do last night?" Did it matter? It didn’t. Life had become a series, a cycle an infinite repeat of indulgent excess. "Pour me another; I can do one more, cut it up; I was dipping into the bag all night." These words were now regularly on deck and in rotation.

She had gone home with one of her regulars. She didn’t tend a bar or work at a restaurant. She liked men and men liked her and she knew how to get them. She was an unattainable, insatiable force of nature. A cold blooded, absent minded wreck of a person that was wanted and needed by what seemed to be anyone she met. This life sucking chameleon was the best and the worst of everything you could ever want to experience and she was just waking up.

"What’s the story morning glory?" I asked as she slowly sat up.