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benchilada He tasted like licorice. When we kissed, the tip of my tongue would sting just a little because of it. I haven’t thought about him in years. The last time we spoke we were in a bar, one of those places where you just throw your peanut shells on the floor and they sweep ‘em up every night. Black Russians for both of us.
He told me he couldn’t live here anymore, even for me. Central Illinois, he said, it's the same as every other empty place in this country. He said he had wings that needed to be spread somewhere bigger than here. Like a damn fool, I let him go.
Last night, I came across an article he’d written in the latest issue of The New Yorker. I can’t remember what it was about. It’s like when you read those last few pages of a book before you fall asleep; when you wake up, they’re gone.
I had a few beers and went to bed, where I dreamt of birds.
b
He told me he couldn’t live here anymore, even for me. Central Illinois, he said, it's the same as every other empty place in this country. He said he had wings that needed to be spread somewhere bigger than here. Like a damn fool, I let him go.
Last night, I came across an article he’d written in the latest issue of The New Yorker. I can’t remember what it was about. It’s like when you read those last few pages of a book before you fall asleep; when you wake up, they’re gone.
I had a few beers and went to bed, where I dreamt of birds.
b
