Young, beautiful, and vulgar.

Our neighbor ran a small extermination business from a remodeled garage behind his house. Some weekends we’d sneak in, fascinated by a wall display of such mounted horrors as a freakish two-headed moth with a 12-inch wingspan. Later I discovered that every exterminator had one of these as part of their standard franchise package, fabricated by XYZ Pest Museum in Silver City, NM.

For unknown reasons, they were willing participants in their own spiritual and psychological extermination.

Looking through the eyes of the photograph itself.

The inexplicable burst of popularity he had enjoyed in his youth dissipated quickly as his contempt for the audience became all too obvious.

Every human relationship poses the question,
“which of us is the crazy one?”

When he stepped out to get the paper the sun was shining, and he realized for the first time in months that he wasn’t scared. Maybe this was how it was for people. Maybe this was what he could hope for.

Becoming good at something is a kind of loss.

It’s simple, but not easy.

I already had those side effects before taking the medication.

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