The Brick

12/26/2010 § Leave a comment

He smokes three cigarettes over last night’s dinner
and when he’s done he calls his mother
who complains about his sister’s boyfriend’s family
and other things. I love you ma, he says
just before hanging up and lights another loose one
which he sucks in deep, keeps sucking until
it’s raining smoke like volcanic snow
there inside his lungs.

… Exhalation, he drops the butt into cold coffee and calls a hooker.
Come quick, he says. And bring wine.
Then he puts on a clean pair and turns on the radio,
Tchaikovsky’s on.

The hooker walks in with a half bottle of red, high
heels and dirty dress. How old are you? he asks
and she says twenty-six. That’s too young, he says, say
you’re thirty. They sit on the couch and drink from the plastic
and talk about the heat wave and the rent and the pimps and all the strays on the street.
So are we gonna fuck? she asks and he undresses her halfway and kisses
her breasts ripe but something in him understands it’s just not going to work.
It’s too hot he says, let’s just finish the bottle. They drink some more
on the couch and talk about his sister’s boyfriend’s family
and other things. You sure you don’t wanna? she asks
when the wine is gone and he pays her in green. Okay then,
she walks away in heels not looking back.

It’s darker now and he lies on the mattress
in his clean pair thinking about the hooker’s calves in heels and suddenly he
wants a smoke like a whale craving air but he’s clean out. Fuck, he says, fuck
fuck fuck. Ceiling’s a gray mirror and he rolls onto his side to turn
the radio back on but on the radio Tchaikovsky’s gone.


Creative Commons License
The Brick by Minwook Bae is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 Canada License.


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