My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose by Kendall Defoe

Again with the flowers? There should be a law about this. Every single time with roses. Who wrote that rule, anyway? Why ruin a perfectly good plant by taking it out of its home and – let’s be fair – killing it for some sort of mating ritual. There should be a law… Are you really going to wear that? I’m sure she’ll be impressed by the way everything you own clashes.
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Some people have a lot of time on their hands. Normal courses of action to fill this extra time include watching television, exercise, writing, etc. I, having extra time on my hands, surf the internet sometimes, in hopes of discovering something that will make me feel better about myself. One amazing day, when for some reason pornography wasn't giving me the confidence boost it normally does, I stumbled upon a gem. A website created solely for the amateur television sitcom reviewer, a demographic largely passed up by websites designed by non-virgins.

One day, somewhere in the future though not so long ago there was this guy. This guy was an ordinary guy, just like any other guy who is perfectly ordinary. This guy had a job (a good job), in the place doing the thing. He was well paid to do the things requested by the job in the place. Sometimes this guy does so much stuff in the place that he has to go out on a Friday night and get drunk. He likes to get drunk to relieve his mind of the pressures doing the things he has to do at the place.

It was a day off and a new dress later; the morning breezy...running the munchkins where all the Valley's wives go to lunge in sync with prancing collies. A quick smoke and coffee break to stimulate the artistic inclinations, then my love and I meditate with newly purchased paint brushes, acrylics, rectangular paper-- with scrap inserts, empty necklace locks, linens and hemp.

My guard was down while I shook pills out of their container, and the old woman’s bony hand shot out from beneath the comforter to grasp my arm before I could flinch out of her reach.

This here is an honest effort, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not much of a writer. Never have been. But I figure about this point in my life I ought to put something out there, you know, or else forty, fifty years from now I might be looking back at my life and finding that it didn’t amount to much of anything, not really.