Daniel Goldberg '11
Donna wasn’t born yesterday, you know. She’s seen what you’re up to and she’ll deal with it her own way, however she likes. In pre-school she bullied the little boys. In college she fucked them. Now she mostly travels, to the places it’s best not to go. She screamed “STOP” once, on an airplane. Everyone was scared, no one knew what she was thinking. Donna is like that.
Alex is preppy and orange and he hates to wear clothes.
He swims tall and emerges unchanged.
He wraps his wet claws around the giggling girls who adore him.
He is dainty and tall and loves to chat.
Melissa hands him a towel and a Styrofoam cup of bourbon.
Out at a restaurant, Alex sits on a throne with lowered eyes.
He smiles slyly and watches the girls sit in unison and cross their legs.
Alex is a self-hating vegan, and he stares while the girls chew their steaks.
Slurping his orange vegetables, Alex mutates slowly.
The conversation grows wild, with Alex talking in tongues.
Alex is left alone.
Seven different suits, all the same. The boss makes 12 times more money than he does, which doesn’t bother him really. It’s just sick how much money they make. Eric doesn’t care about money, though. He wears gym shorts at home, never leaves the bedroom, doesn’t spend. He doesn’t dislike work, really. It’s just so long each day, and he isn’t exactly close to Wall St. either. He read a book that taught him how to make enough money so that he could work from home 3 days a week – that’s it. He hasn’t quite figured it all out. The markets plunged, but the analysts at his company are feeling good. Sometimes he goes to the sensory deprivation tank in Chelsea with the other men, to float in saltwater and forget his body, to lose time.
Gaze swimming, eyes far apart under a skinny forehead. He shifts uncomfortably in the spacious overalls. Lies down on his back for a nap. Matthew can sleep endlessly if nothing wakes him, even on the hot baked ground. His tan is red but not a burn. It suits him, even in winter. Inside him there is quite a temper. You can tell because his arms stand straight at his sides, which only ever happens when his brother calls him “frog foot”. Matthew thinks his feet are perfectly fine. Even Tracy said so.
Born in Tennessee, went to New York once and loved the scene. Stays in Tennessee though, building up an underground following. Dave feels big in a small town. Puts on a tight black shirt, leather pants, metal boots. Caresses his new guitar. He licks it. Dave once beat a man with his electric guitar. Spent 5 years in prison.
Viktor lives in his studio. He wants to be famous. Sure, he knows how to party, but he does it for the fame. Everybody likes Viktor. We want to be his friend because we think maybe he has it in him – something, anyway. He looks the part too – blonde, a steady walk, boots and jacket from Germany. You’ve seen his parents, I’m sure. Both are still stars on the big screen. They didn’t push him into this
business though. The city did it. What else is there in LA?
Audrey claims she likes to eat her vegetables – always did. She says she likes to wash the dishes. She even claims her homework is “really quite intriguing”. The truth is, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She just gets by on that pretty smile. Even I can’t resist it.
Jerry won’t tell anyone about the tens of thousands of dollars he spends on laser hair removal. The truth is, no one’s even seen him without a suit and tie, and if anyone did he’d say he was born 100% hairless, just a freak of nature like that. Jerry destroyed photos of his hairy past, he goes back to the dermatologist out of compulsion, knowing he’ll always be a freak. The dermatologist suggested he
see a shrink.
Her parents love to squeeze her cheeks. She blinks. Her older brother can walk and talk. She can sit up sometimes, but he’ll push her down if she does. She blinks. Her cousins wake her up to play with her. If their mother’s around she won’t let them. She blinks. She didn’t get fed tonight. She blinks. Her brother wakes up crying. She blinks. Her parents put her in a frilly dress.
Zack throws his baloney sandwich on the sidewalk. The fucking birds can eat it. He wipes the grease on his shiny black hair. There’s nothing to do in New York.