Flash Fiction
Years ago, you threw yourself into your work. Your maniac energy swamped my thoughts. The vigor you had, the excesses of the Pleasure Principle you sought, debauched me on every single level. State College U. had never seen such parties. Thinking of the times we shared makes me sad, Id. Your partners-in-crime, ego and super-ego, are no better, but at least they still refuse to pay their part of the rent. I want things to revert to how they were: buttered popcorn and hookers, a season of Glee on demand. We need to forge forward, work on that Death Drive, if we are to go anywhere in this life. Sincerely, Christopher Linforth
Atticus Review│Get Lit: Round 1
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