Abstract
This story was originally published in Day One, a weekly literary journal dedicated to short fiction and poetry from emerging writers.
Extract: Aquariums are for children and creeps. And, at twenty-nine and pretty, Nina was popular with both. She had strawberry cheeks, olive skin, apple eyes, and a caramel smile. Good enough to eat. Or kiss. Or stare at longingly. And stare they did. Especially Doug. It wasn’t like he had a lot else to do.
Doug was excited. It was hard to tell, because his jowls sagged at the same dejected angle whatever his emotions, and his dumpy body had trouble expressing passion. But in his heart he was excited. He could see the clock through the receptionists’ office door, and it was nearly 9:00 a.m. Only a few more minutes.
Nina arrived at 8:56. She was running late, as usual, but Doug didn’t mind. She always arrived through the staff entrance out the side, so he never saw her come in. Only her hurried ghost in the window as she threw her bag under the counter, swept back her hair, and tried in vain to smooth her unironed uniform across that little body of hers. Christ, she was good-looking. Doug knew he didn’t have a chance, but—well, a guy could look.
The clock ticked over. 8:58. Not long now.
Extract: Aquariums are for children and creeps. And, at twenty-nine and pretty, Nina was popular with both. She had strawberry cheeks, olive skin, apple eyes, and a caramel smile. Good enough to eat. Or kiss. Or stare at longingly. And stare they did. Especially Doug. It wasn’t like he had a lot else to do.
Doug was excited. It was hard to tell, because his jowls sagged at the same dejected angle whatever his emotions, and his dumpy body had trouble expressing passion. But in his heart he was excited. He could see the clock through the receptionists’ office door, and it was nearly 9:00 a.m. Only a few more minutes.
Nina arrived at 8:56. She was running late, as usual, but Doug didn’t mind. She always arrived through the staff entrance out the side, so he never saw her come in. Only her hurried ghost in the window as she threw her bag under the counter, swept back her hair, and tried in vain to smooth her unironed uniform across that little body of hers. Christ, she was good-looking. Doug knew he didn’t have a chance, but—well, a guy could look.
The clock ticked over. 8:58. Not long now.
| Original language | English |
|---|---|
| Type | Creative works |
| Media of output | Textual work |
| Publisher | StoryFront |
| Number of pages | 23 |
| Place of Publication | Seattle |
| Publication status | Published - 2015 |