July 2009
14 posts
running the marathon pt. 2--unlikely pilgrim
man, that guy with the tattoo scribblings on his forehead has been in the bathroom for a long time.
i decided to not worry about it too much and fiddled with which brand of cigarette i would try next. new to smoking, the idea of brand loyalty had not yet manifested itself. it was out of sheer boredom that i was getting into such a foul habit, and the rack of a hundred options hanging above my...
running the marathon pt. 1--trustworthy
(stories from when i worked at a marathon gas station in the mid to late ’90s) lace gloves and stilleto boots would’ve been fine for the city, but this fella was strutting around a gas station in wood dale, illinois. not necessarily the friendliest place for a post-era glam cock (souped up on some kind of accelerant, no less.) he asked for cigarettes—menthols. it worked out...
ray's marina
despite knowing that ultimately i chose all 2,000+ songs i have in the pocket juke, the random play option was downright scaring me tonight with its accurate accompaniment of my mood. i said “you keep this up and i’ll happily trust/accept a world governed by robots.” it answered me by playing ‘bastards of the young.’
i’m...
somewhere in lafayette i think
it had been a hell of a party with police and running and fighting and music.
when i woke up, greg was in the front yard with a garden hose watering down a couch that wasn’t out there the night before.
“greg, i don’t think you can grow couches; you’ve got to build them,” i said.
“somebody lit it on fire last night, fuckface,” he said. “it was...
spasticworks
derrick was a black guy that loved ‘november rain’ by guns and roses, so we got along pretty well. we had to on account of it being just us in the stockroom. the place was called plasticworks which is what it was, and derrick called our boss “chuckles” instead of chuck, which i got a real kick out of. chuck was the president of a middleman distro place that handled...
definitively suburban
a memory i almost forgot: it was summertime and i was hired to be a waiter at the olive garden, but a few days before i was supposed to start i broke my shoulder backyard wrestling. my mom took me to the hospital and yelled at me about inherited alcoholism the whole time. this just came back to me a few weeks ago, and i feel it speaks volumes.
[repost from may ‘08]
next curse, same as the first
hello, kyle kinane here making a nominal effort. this will feature, at first, older writing and new news, and then to feature newer writing as well. and pictures, if i can figure that out.
