writing and bad magic

1.

girl does bad magic. not the kind you can see but feel.
my feet hurt after a long day, it's horrid. this heat, the job ... the way the cars keep coming and going. and people. people the most.

she'll write me, not often and i heard her voice a few months back. not the first time - not the last. you never know how things would have worked out. sometimes it's a shame that all you have is now.

all you have is now. I've erased a few words on the page and there are those little rubber shavings. blow.

I've used a rubber maybe 4 or 5 times in my entire life. that's dirty. but the way it is. It feels better. you can't disagree with that?. even if you want it all in you. I haven't had all that many lovers. more lies than lovers. more lies than babies. I'm right about that. the it feeling good part. she thinks i kind of faked that i can pull out in time. it's not a lie though, i can. you should know.

the sun is beating down on the office window beside me. i closed the blinds and i can still feel the heat. i touch the plastic shades. warm. i press my hand to my face. now it feels like when we were together in your room. do you remember? heart beats, acoustic, sad music. maybe it's flushed with shame. i should have told you. I loved you.

writing and drinking makes me happy. kissing your face. making fun of hipsters. making fun of politics, road signs, warning signs. writing and a brief affair with a semi- famous actress. or artist. or cam whore, or blog mistress, or bored wife, or pregnant and horny. i don't know, using the right side of my brain? I dream. i fall in love but don't fall in love with everyone you see. okay?

i hate any kind of milk. even soy. I have a fear of elevators and often dream of tornadoes. (though never having seen a real one) i like the lime and the places you can stick it. I like sticking things in. pushing red buttons. candy is nice but i can live without ever having to wear a tie again. what is good weather for a funeral?

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2.

she called him at work one day and told him she'd be in town, if it was cool with him, she'd like to hook up. he was with someone now, she knew that. she was with someone too. So, he told her he'd get back with her. In the company restroom and within moments jerked off all over his hand and the toilet paper he'd been holding to keep his cum from dripping on the floor. (or shooting on the wall) He called her back and said sorry he was busy. 15 minutes later he was ready again. to much thinking. the thought of a hotel room and fucking like they'd never see each other again. He'd fuck her tenderly with anger. He sent a text hoping it wasn't to late, he wrote: Cancelled plans, just for you- baby- I'd love it to meet...
every guy is a slave to their dick, a slave to options- openings- opportunity - He easily writes this off as fate- a phone call. He thought about jerking off again, texting back: something came up, next time? I'll make it up to you. promise.
- but he let it ride. enough fucking promises. He would let it build up, the anger, sorrow, regret, all those drawn out god damned good byes. he knew just where he was going to put them.