On Your Mark, Get Set or One, Two, Three
It's midnight on July fourth. The only reason I'm parking my car at the all-night CVS across town is because my girlfriend keeps complaining about her back, a bruise and scrape caused by a drunken slip on the pool deck at a party earlier. She laughed it off then. She cursed me out when I left our apartment. She wants Advil. Name brand. Not generic. I am buying the generic. She will not bitch. I won't let her see the bottle. I'll cup two pills in one hand, glass of water in the other, give her both, she'll slurp 'em down, go to sleep none the wiser, and that'll be that. Unless she looks close at the pills. Then I'm fucked. * There's a lumpy white woman talking into her flip phone, face worn as a crusty towel. “Where are you?... Me? The same place I was fifteen minutes ago. Standing out front of CVS... Come on, I got cold food... Because you said you'd be right back when you dropped me off. You're the one that asked for the damn R