This is how it works. Responsibilities are divided. One keeps the money in her pockets, another stuffs three cigarettes between her breasts for later in the night and the third is in charge of getting discounted drinks. She, the last of the four, need only look fuckable. To dance.
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There is in our town a small man who licks sidewalks. We have none of us seen him firsthand, we know of him only through the police. That is, each day the paper in town prints a list of reports from our local police, and sometimes there is mention of a man up to something strange. Always he is described as small, of slight build. Often he is dressed in black. Many of us now follow our police reports closely, scanning for sightings of this dark little man.
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Welcome to another installment of If My Book, the Monkeybicycle feature in which authors shed light on their recently released books by comparing them to weird things. This week Helen Ellis writes about her first story collection, American Housewife, out today from Doubleday.
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I watched a woman fix a roadside shrine just before the rain came.
Blue and purple plastic flowers thinned by summer sun and bent weird by winter. Coat hangers built into a cross. Nailed into a swamp oak. Ya know.
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