Fallout (Crank 3)

The place smelled like a florist

shop (or funeral, depending

on where your head is at).

She was completely stunned,

and helpless against my kiss.

When she kissed me back,

I delivered the coup de grâce,

making love to her on a bed

blanketed thickly with petals.

OUR TRUCE

Has been an uneasy one, exacerbated

by, of all things, Thanksgiving

tomorrow. Never let a woman

watch the cooking channel.

Especially not as the holiday

season approaches. After one

Saturday marathon, Nikki got

it in her head that she was going

to make a turducken. Not only

that, but she wanted to host the day

for her dad (who, I’m pretty sure,

would much rather spend it boinking

his boss), her mom (whose method

of drowning out that soap opera

is a pricey bottle of scotch), and me.

Now even if I wanted to deal with all

of the above, which I soooo don’t,

my mom expects my presence at

her dinner table. It’s like being married,

only worse because I’m not married,