StuntzTheDude

So when I walked in the garage door, the one with the broken sheetrock connected to the laundry room, I looked in the kitchen and saw the TV was still on. I dropped my purse on the floor by the counter by the island under the burnt out lamp with the dusty shade nobody could reach to clean and I poked my head in the living room. Judy was taking a nap on the cracked blue leather recliner, all frazzled and pale with arthritic knees tucked up under her blanket and her pointy, splotchy face tight in the glare of Fox News. All splayed out and her head stickin up like she was still watchin, she twitched a bit when I said hi, but she totally didn't r

It's not like I had a choice. I mean, I would have if I could have, I tell myself, or her, in the mirror, attempting to scrape off the extra inches from her face and waist and thighs, and see that no one has called me in like four days. She picks at my eyes and admires the dappled purple pooling beneath them, and hates my cheeks for not being so gaunt as to catch the light. I twist her hips in and out of the shadow and think if she sucks it in, or if I bends this way, maybe her ribs will show enough, and she counts one two three, and maybe she could look at them and flaunt her ass while she doesn't eat dinner. She yanks her hair back and touc