For the Love of Milton

For the Love of Milton“Is this bad?” he asked while tossing his entrails casually into the brown paper grocery sack.

She smiled and nodded her approval.

“Is this bad?” he asked, as he carefully yanked free each of his bitten-down fingernails with the dimestore needle-nosed pliers he wielded.

“Of course.” she said, her smile growing wider.

“Is this bad?” he asked as he proceeded to whittle away at the bones inside his forearm with a cheese grater he had specifically adapted for that very purpose.

She laughed like running water, and turned, and left the room.

And was gone.

He never saw her again.

Ever.

[Photo above by Jo Naylor / CC BY-ND 2.0]

About Robert Glen Fogarty

Sometimes I'll take the wrong bus just to get out of the cold for a little while.

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