“C’mon! C’mon!”
She’s yelling at me.
I can’t. It’s awkward.
I want to ask something terrible, but I can’t. “C’mon!” “It’s hard when you’re yelling at me.”
She’s not appreciating this.
This is a favour.
A miserable, lonely favour.
What the hell is she thinking?
What the hell am I thinking?
I make some sound.
Like a happy, deep sound.
She stares at me. She knows
I’m a liar. “So great,” I say. “Hmm” she says, and coughs
into her palm.
ZEN NOVEMBER 