Sunday

Valentine's Day Ish Ehh



Describing Andy 

His name is Andy. He has a crooked dick. He gets mad at you when you don’t return his Tupperware on time. He will give you small portions of under cooked meat in these Tupperware. He tells jokes. He tells jokes I don’t get. He will tell jokes and jokes. I miss the queue to laugh. I miss the punch line. He calls his most recent ex-wife a cunt whore bag. Other times as my old lady. He mentions her once or twice, only when he’s received an official letter for unpaid medical bills from an attorney, citing, we aren’t really divorced, she won’t sign the papers.

He keeps talking about how he was younger and he’d get four chicks at once. One during the week. Two on the weekends. And one once a month. He said he was a fucking machine. That he loved women. And they loved him. He smiles past me as if looking deeply.

He tells crazy sex women stories. Some I don’t believe. He is part Native American. His father had a temper and drank. He drinks. But he doesn’t have a temper. He has salt at his stove top, not his table.  He has pepper hair. His skin is mixed with earth, olive not olive, leather thickened with bison something, no not at all, rose and pale or yellow but greenish. I have never seen it before. Don’t ask me to describe it again.   



Here are a grouping of some photographs in honor of Valentine's Day.






No comments: