July 22nd, 2015

As if she had read his mind -- and she very well could have -- she nearly sucked up her entire face into a testicle-shriveling lemon-pucker kissy-mouth.  But, suddenly she planted a Grinch-like smile on her pan as if she didn’t have a care in the world, then she leaned forward with a sort of serpentine slink across the table -- B.J. swore her neck was about two feet long at this point and growing like a Slinky -- and she hissed, “You, you, you trailer trash.”

He thought about that for a second, then he looked her right in the eyes -- he saw an inhuman narrowing and sudden expansion of the pupils in the form of a triangle -- and he said real low, “Wow, I sure wish I had a trailer,” and he did too.  His one-room hotel room was a real dump and he had hookers and pimps outside on the corner all night long making gaawwwd-awful noises.  A few times he threw coffee mugs at them from his third story window but that got to be fairly expensive, and, uh, hell he didn’t have a job at the time.


Excerpt from The Eternal Optimist by Kevin O'Kendley