Drop #33: The Next Maggie

‘You’re right, again, Carl,’ Maggie said, putting away her iPhone. ‘Aren’t you tired of always being right?’

‘No.’ I answered. ‘It’s like that Roxy Music album whose name I always forget. I never tire of it.’

‘You know what’s sad?’ Maggie asked, moving on methodically.

‘I know loads of things that are sad, but I doubt any are what you’re on about,’ I said, watching Josephine as she lifted the lid of her omelet with her knife, peaked inside, dug out a cherry tomato, flattened it with her fork twice, then ate it unaccompanied.

‘I don’t remember the last time I was horny,’ Maggie said. ‘I mean properly keen and up for it.’ I was ecstatic she’d brought Josephine along. The two of them were friends from Pilates class.

‘I’m horny now,’ I said.

‘Or even had a decent orgasm.’

‘Well, that happens.’

‘It does, right?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘To losers.’

‘Gee, thanks.’

I watched Maggie sip clumsily on her coffee, with her elongated, alien looking face suggesting one of her parents might have been a praying mantis; with her lips puckered and drawn forward, as if she was sucking on a tasteless hard candy, and her nostrils pointing down and out like an angry bull’s. I couldn’t get over the fact that just a month earlier I had been immensely attracted to her; now, psychosis remained as the only explanation. I even tried to summon sadness at the thought of her hypothetical death, but came up empty. I simply couldn’t guarantee I’d care.

Josephine was an entirely different story. She had the best, most appealing walk I’d ever seen, like that of a cartoon figure on a video game intro, with fluid hands swinging along her sides, and her ass in jeans was something I instantly wanted to bite, slap, tickle, fuck. She had effortlessly pouty lips that said the dirtiest things without speaking, and a tongue piercing that never stood still inside her playful pink mouth. I also liked the way she drank. She was on her third Bloody Mary.

‘I went to a concert last night,’ Maggie started again, ‘at The Stand. You know, I’ve always regretted not learning how to drum. I can watch a jazz drummer for hours on end – it’s so hypnotic. Even a geeky Jewish kid becomes sexy on a set of drums.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, distracted. Josephine was taking a bite and I was curious if she’d dig for another cherry tomato. I was riveted, but wondered if maybe, in a month, she’d be just another Maggie to me.

 By E.M. Vireo

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About EM Vireo
flooding the world with fiction

2 Responses to Drop #33: The Next Maggie

  1. Intense Hsiu says:

    Ouch

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