I remember, once, my mother telling me that at times when I would enter a room she would look on me with a brief confusion, not immediately recognizing her only son, little son, as I appeared in the door. Who is this person? - hairs on my face, a cigarette behind my ear, talking apocalyptically about God knows! - My poor mother!!
One short story I read in my early teens was about a man who accidentally sells his soul to the devil by failing to read the fine print twined betwixt the lines of some online policy agreement. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The internet was so new then.
I FOUND IT INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT NOT TO PURCHASE THESE ENTRANCING OBJECTS FROM A YARD SALE THAT I STUMBLED ACROSS THE OTHER DAY
Rudy stalks into the restaurant, aggressively shouldering past the waiters and patrons.
At Chester's table he slams his fist down, white knuckles on white tablecloth, bellowing.
Only slightly Chester raises his head, tears silently running down his face, finding their way into a shallow dish of sweet smelling noodles and bean sprouts below.
Even more infuriated by the scene Rudy's face shades itself a fiery red.
Oh my God are you fucking crying?! Good!! Cry into your Goddamn chow mein you miserable idiot!!
Quivering, Chester's simpering response while he fondles a wedge of lime-
This is Pad Thai, Rudy!!
