Yolky at t!te WaYhol Museum
said squat at school or last night at the gym, but maybe they were waiting for me to mosey into work tonight, but tonight is my night off-didn't they remember? He recalled all those years past when he dreaded anyone knowing his birthday or knowing anything about him, but life was better now, he had found help with his gambling problem ("fuck luck" was his mantra) and he had found a beloved; he'd squeezed into graduate school and written strong material about his experiences with the wild hungry masses and received one encouraging rejection letter from a big magazine, but now nobody remembered his birthday. Bunch of jerks, he thought. After all those potlucks I brought hummus to. And Jenny, oh, Jenny, with the long list of publications and boobs as wide as watermelons; and nipples, he could only imagine, as thick and substantial as light switches. Now she wasn't answering her phone after he had just given her a key to his place. He'd given it to her as a sign of trust, saying, just in case I ever lose mine, I mean it's good to know that someone you trust has a set. I mean lookit-it had been her idea, she kept mentioning that neither of them was from Pittsburgh. And now she wouldn't call him on his birthday? And she wouldn't answer her phone? He made sure the ringer on his cell phone was at five. To heck with the people watching the movie, he thought, it's my birthday and I want to be able to talk to Jenny when she calls. And if she doesn't call I'll use her keys when she's not home and swipe her list of contacts, the names of editors and agents, and put her panties in my bag. Dirty panties, from the dirty laundry. Oh, Lee, you can de devilish, can't you. Like lago. He was watching the last Star Wars movie and scribbling notes for an essay he was formulating for a graduate class on Shakespeare's tragedies.
Wasn't this futuristic drama, which happened in the past, reminiscent of, or derivative of, Macbeth? Couldn't Luke be Macbeth? Or maybe Darth Vader could ? Lookit- first things first he would reread that play. Reread this play, I must, he thought, pretending to be Yoda. He tore up his notes; nobody called; the movie ended and he chucked his tub of popcorn at the barrel and watched couples and groups of friends poke around and finally say let's go, see ya. Part 3: Paxson
He rolled down the window and entered the gate code and cold air blew in. The code didn't work. He tried it again. It didn't work again. He rolled up the window. "This is the wrong place," Gus said. "We got the wrong directions." He sounded hopeful and he sounded scared. "That Melanie. What a snoot now though, huh?" Paxson tried the code again. He rolled up the window and used his cell to call Farquhar. Behind them someone honked. The car behind them was trying to Summer â€˘ Fall 2006
The Literary Digest of the University of Idaho