Making The Scene

"You gonna post that one? yeah? What are you gonna say- you should say like, Benny finally meets someone age appropriate, ha! Wait, is it the one with her in the red dress? That's just crazy, you gotta post it. Hey- tag Benny in it. Oh, and David and Alan, Shannon and Ashley will go nuts!" Nathan is slumped across from Josh, texting away with thumbs like lightning, massively oversized watch sliding around his soft wrist. Boys weekend in New York and they've documented the entire gong show on facebook and twitter, hashtagging the victors and spoils. "Are you on wifi or are you using your data? You're gonna get hammered with roaming fees, you know that right?" The weekend in Vegas cost Nathan an extra $400 in data charges, most of which he rolled into the expense report. Josh and Nathan have figured out a way to write off their weekend exploits under the guise of research and development. When they're able, they rope in Benny, David, and Alan and wreak havoc on their livers and neural brain functions. It's beginning to wear on their bodies. The fitted tight t shirts now stretch out across their buddha bellies; years of steak and cigars, whiskey and Amarone coupled with too much pot and not enough yoga is showing up all over them. Although Alan's doing well. His girlfriend is a vegan yogini keeping him limbre and lithe, to no end of razzing from the rest of the pack. Secretly, Josh wishes Lisa would put her foot down in more positive ways and exert some force over him in their relationship. They've both packed on the pounds since hitting 34. He's taken to wearing boxers and a t shirt to bed while she favours her McGill baggy law school sweats. The bagels and tubs of Coconut Bliss aren't doing them any favours, either. "Ok, this- this shot here- this is gold, you have to tag David, he'll die. Are his pants undone?" The gate attendant gets on the speaker announcing pre boarding for executive, elite and super elite passengers. "Come on, Josh- I need a drink. Grab my garment bag for me. Oh! yes- I forgot about this- he's never going to get that stain out. Shannon's gonna kill him when she sees this. Wait- lemme hashtag it...."

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moving in Stasis

Go. Get on that plane, that train, that bus. Walk if you have to. Swim, we've got great lakes and oceans and rivers. So many bodies of water and tracts of land to get across. Find a way, they said, just get here, soon. And so Tally packed a bag with just the essentials: a blueberry corn muffin with a shmear of cream cheese, her well worn pocket stone she rubs in her left hand, a packet of mints from the drive in theatre, and two pineapple juice boxes. A clean pair of socks, some dental floss, mom's old cigarette lighter she stole off her bureau, and twenty three dollars and eighty five cents in change. That was the heaviest part of her backpack. She wondered if she was forgetting something but her mind raced with all the things at once. Will her shoes be comfortable on the long journey? Did she feed the cockatiel before she left the house? How can she get across the ocean if the boats aren't docking in the harbour anymore? What if she runs out of money? Will Joseph be
Read more

Kindness Is A Boomerang

If he can make it off the couch to the kitchen, then he'll be up and at 'em. Movement is motion and motion is energy and like a battery, he'll recharge. Feel better. Or different. Good enough. Long nights of hourly wake ups, followed by the struggle to quiet his mind. Loop, loop, looping through endless thoughts of what if and who will and I should and maybe they'll but just go to sleep. Sleep. No tech in his room, just sleep and sex. Although physical touch has been lacking. Wanting. Week seven, but who's counting.  And that's just sheltering in place. Before that, well...seasons. The sky is bright. City living with no light pollution is like life at the cottage on Lac St Joseph. There are meteors tonight, a shower or falling or maybe it's his brain playing tricks on his eyes. Looking for things  he can't possibly see. Four missed calls. Thirteen notifications. No one he's pining for so it's a wash. Is it too late to get up... too early
Read more

Good, Not Great

She hits the down button. Two hospital admin types, young women in almost stylish outfits, the ones afforded on entry level salaries, wait on a car going up. The elevator arrives, doors open, she steps on then realizes she's going up. Force of habit, she says aloud to no one in particular, pavlovian response. The two women sort of smile as they study the floor, suddenly intensely awkward and private. She gets louder as she backs out of the car. Doors close and she hovers her finger over the already illuminated down button. Right, just did that. It's quiet here, far from the madding crowd. Emerg was busy, mainly the geriatric crew. A few indigent and drunk and disorderlies draped over chairs, hanging out of gurneys, buried under sheets and gowns, moaning, rambling incoherently. It's the large-and-in-charge paramedic night: 4 teams of doughy young men stand sentinel with their wards, buried in paperwork, bored with the hurry and up wait logjam of daily deliveries.
Read more