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Notes of an Old Man Who Lives Alone

October 22, 2015 Leave a comment Go to comments
By Luman Cans Harris

By Luman Cans Harris

“Now, listen here Luman. You’re a piece of shit.”

We were sitting at my kitchen table. I was watching a squirrel cross the power line. I looked down at the instant coffee I had made for her.

“You’re a Grade-A pile of shit. You always were.”

She lit a cigarette.

“I don’t allow smoking,” I said.

She didn’t care for that. I had left a paperback on the table face down. She picked it up and tore it clean in half.

“That wasn’t really necessary.”

“So, what’s going on? You fucking that redhead downstairs? That little redhead piece of trash?”

“I know her only by sight.”

“How much are you paying her, Luman?” She crushed the cigarette out on the table. Some of the laminate burned. I winced.

She got angrier all of a sudden and screamed. I was wondering how much longer it would last. Who knew where the frustration came from? It had been years.

“Just the same mountain of shit as always, Luman Cans Harris.”

She left without closing the front door. I sat there awhile. The light dimmed.

Later, I went out for a candy bar. I passed the redhead on the stairs. She was wearing a pink suit.

“How was your day?” she asked. She was fumbling for her keys.

“I’m just an old man who lives alone. Every day is the same.”

“AWWWWWWWW,” she said, as though I were some sort of a cute little kitten. She unlocked her door. I followed her ass in with my eyes.

It had been a long day.

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