Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Stab II

One stamp, the kind you had to lick, and he had the crazy thought that the adhesive might have turned bad, might be poison, and he shuddered when he realized he wished that were true. Three half-sticks of gum, each hard enough to use as a file. Chewing half a stick of gum at a time was a habit he learned from his grandmother, to whom sweets were a luxury, and who rationed them as if the country were at war. She never quite got used to the idea that when she ran out of gum, there would be more where it came from. Thirteen business cards, only four of which he remembered acquiring, the others were an odd assortment of real estate agents, mystics, and Avon representatives. Mary Kay, he realized. His cousin sells Mary Kay. She'd kill him if she found these here. Or was it Avon? One condom, a five dollar bill and eight one dollar bills. A picture of his ex-girlfriend's daughter he'd forgotten to remove. and whose face startled him now because she looked eerily like his sister as a child: brown eyes but light hair, very light, and odd combination that made him think of marionettes, their eyes painted brightly below eyebrow-less foreheads.