Forum Onions by Susy Morris
Bravery, wit, and deception. Organic onions. And a red scrap of paper left over from a Chinatown menu.
I thought cardboard a good idea, then. I dreamt dizzy dreams of paper mache cocoons, whirling in my dirty sleep a moth; I emerged new striped suit with plenty of expensive whores to chew gum idly in my convertible car while I conducted business inside with demigods and horned, muscled knots of men. The whores pushed the power windows up, down, up and down.
Deception, wit, and bravery. She left me on Friday and went out for drinks with the girls. Her “Fuck off!” message on my phone sounded more like a meat grinder churning through laughter in the background.
She said she was going to Texas. Texas. Really?
Wit, after Bravery. The coverup. Two cops shot a man swinging a knife in a restaurant. He had blood on his apron. They later told the court they slipped on pig guts. Guns fired as they fell. All hell. They were acquitted by a fat, fat judge.
Bravery, Bravery. A girl I knew in high school decided she would win the Moto GP by running her GSXR 1000 entirely on alcohol. She gassed up the bike, then finished her bottle of Everclear. Number 75 was called. Called. Race started with an empty space.
Wit is something old men perfect in the downslide of cowardice. They sometimes end up presidents, crimelords, and worse off–writers.
Deception. I took up a job writing dating profiles for the lyrically inept. The gorgeously lazy. I got paid on the amount of dates that ended up in sex. Words were just that, sex. How much superlatives could I splatter on their faces? Subtlety.
Every once it awhile I would stumble across a longer-form piece of writing that I really enjoyed reading. The MC certainly had a fair share of genuine “erotica” (and I don’t mean all the NSA/Casual Encounters messages that proliferated the space) but it was rare to find a piece of fiction/non-fiction like this bit from San Francisco.
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