Small-Scale

Ok so yeah I punched her.
I suppose I punched her right in the nose.
It was one of those Dairy-Queen soft serve treks.
The sidewalk was still warm.

It was chatter of the hybrid dysfunctional kind and we were strolling.
There were lawn-mowers hedge-clippers and leaf-blowers going. I would not say it was frenetic but the neighborhood appeared I would say brisk.

So it came up again.

“What do you plan on doing?” she said.
“Right now?” I said.
“This minute now,” she said.

I knew it was going to be an up-hill climb.
There had been words.
And kitchen furniture and appliances.
Not so much the durable goods kind I guess.

“You should look for a place,” she said.
“Nebraska,” I said.
“Somewhere anywhere soon,” she said.

I figured there are some things soft-serve won’t solve.

“I’ll figure something out,” I said
“You god damn right you will you bastard,” she said.

And so she turned and kicked me in the crotch.

I punched her in the nose as I was going down and pretty soon we are both splayed out on the sidewalk this is how I knew it was still warm and she is holding her nose cooing like a Sand-Hill crane and I am pretty well immobilized and stars and this fella pounces on me and drags me over across his lawn and Half-Nelson’s me or whatever till the cops show up.

They are all still standing on the porch light pointing.
Pointing to me smoosh’d in the backseat of this prowler.
Dispatch sounds sexy and the bats flitter.
I do not see her. She is probably busy being pampered somewhere.

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