Cancer.

She let him go 

Over and over and over.  

But he kept coming back.   

She said goodbye 

Over and over and over.  

But he kept coming back.   

She asked him why… 

He kept coming back.   

He vanished again and again. 

But he kept coming back.   

She burned his letters and cloaked them with tears.  

But it didn’t matter. He kept coming back.   

She moved. She hid.  

He got married. Not to her. She said goodbye. 

She cut the silver line. 

But he kept coming back.

the never-ending doors by Rafael Rozendaal who is definitely one of the best.

STINKY K TRAIN

She’s on that K-train again, dreaded journey to City College to add that dreaded math class. The cold, frigid windows feel like they’re absorbing the 40-degree rain that’s pouring outside. It’s 6p.m. and her birthday—but she has to add this fucking class or else she’s doomed. Her face, a sallow frown. Her jaw, a rock-hard clench. Bitterness the class won’t let out until after 9:30…she knows she won’t get home until after 10. Her forehead wrinkles…”Should I screw it? Go back, put the party dress on and rage?” The dinner her boyfriend planned is postponed. She loathes this stinky K-train, she loathes Ocean Drive, and she loathes that damn math class. The darkness she sees as she peers outside through the droplets on the window illuminated in twinkle red, blue, and white from the cars driving by. Her wide-eyed smile is hardened and frustrated. There is no way out and she has no one to vent to on that cold, stinky K-train to math, jutting back and forth, and side to side, as it jangles down its path.

stinky train illustration by Clare Sabatini, one of the amazing amazing talents i met in portland (and i'm super excited this fellow francophile is drawing and writing for TTF!) thx, clare! xxx

I SAW YOU AT THE CHINATOWN MASSAGE

It was dark and seedy and the fog hovered behind corners and through old fire escapes, which made them craaaanky-cranky. The trinket shops and jade jewelers and tourist racket were all tucked in. No one was in Chinatown that night.   

On a back street that most out-of-towners would miss were the only places that looked open. At the far end of the almost-alley was a counterfeit Hello Kitty shop. A chubby Chinese woman with Farrah hair unwrapped the new Hong Kong shipment. Her husband glared suspiciously. “No. No diaries. No.”   

Hot spice and pork blew into the alley from two spots nearby...“Delicious Dumplings.” No one stood in line tonight, but the little old lady stood guard over the steaming bundles. Chive dumplings and Hong Kong Kitty.  That was it, aside from the looming fog overhead.

Except…  

One of the skinniest beautiful old Chinatown buildings stood dead center on the sticky street, like a pagoda-style steeple with giant red and pink lanterns getting nudged by the Bay air.  And below its red iron galleries, a bright bulbed light light light light CHINATOWN MASSAGE poked out above an old carved-dragon door…which cracked open, and a gashing light flooded the dirty dirty street. Then the back of a man moved into the doorframe. He was a bit husky, in a pressed shirt and wrinkled slacks (business-y attire) and short hair. His arms waved, then pointed, and a voice could be heard.   

“Where is the massage?” He stepped back, so he was standing outside the door. Again he asked, “Where is the massage?” 

Then another man came into focus, facing him, inside the door, facing the darkness of the street. The garish light lit his aging sunburned Chinese face.  

“Massage is next door.” The door shut. And so did the light.  

The faceless man looking for a massage went to and knocked on the faceless door next door. This building looked closed, invisible, hidden, like someone wasn’t home. Like it had nothing to do with the bright lights of the CHINATOWN MASSAGE.   

He knocked again and waited. Then he heard a soft voice pass behind him  and his shoulders stiffened as he nervously peeked—  

“…I see you at the Chinatown Massage…”

awesome "dude" doing a double take by awesome dude Chris Matty

I EAT BAA-LA-LEET!

I dream of BAA-LA-LEET. 

A mountain of the noodle treat,  

my childhood favorite thing to eat!  

With saffron and sugar,  

the part we fight over- 

believe it or not 

is all the burned TADEEK!

okay...a silly rhyme about my favorite bahraini food ev-er...but tadeek is a persian treat that everyone does fight over...the crispy bottom of the rice or, in this case, noodles...mmmmm! 

Emily Ryan's amazing amazing baa-la-leet drawing of a lovely with saffron in her hair. :) thx, emily!

Guest Author: MONICA P!

Champagne of Beers.

Yeah, I had one or two. Okay, I had a few. More than a few would probably be more accurate, because a couple is two and a few generally refers to three, or possibly more. And three would be a gross and terrible understatement.   

My head hurts too much to count. Whatever.   

I fumble to the bathroom, find it, finally. Almost trip over some sort of hair appliance on the checkerboard black and white vintage tile. I take a long and satisfying piss, push my dick back into my boxers as I take in the sheer number of what - shampoo bottles? – that line the edge of the tub. I turn on the right spigot and it squeaks as cool water sprays into the basin. I bend my long body almost in half, catch a glimpse of my naked torso in the mirror, and put my head as deep into the basin as it can go.  

Damn these vintage sinks. Too shallow for proper face splashing, the faucet spigot jams into the top of my head. Wincing, I pull my head up, look in the mirror again and let the water fill my cupped hands. Carefully bowing to the sink again, I close my eyes, pull my hands to my face and let the coolness roll down over my eyebrows and drip off of my chin and nose. Another handful of water in the mouth, swish and spit. The spigot drips a last few drops. Look in mirror. Run wet hands through black hair. Wipe mouth with hand. Consider options.

Chris Matty did the rad rad "champagne of shampoos" illustration even tho' he's really busy teaching his school of rock! 

Monica P is my bookworm dear dear friend, who was a roommate once back in the day when we all partied in Twin Peaks (yes)... she is someone i've always discussed and shared booktalk with, she hooked up with my other roommate Franc in my (basement) room and they got married on my birthday (and now they have a really cute chubby baby boy!). she's also a great great supporter of everything i do, no matter how crazy it gets, even though she has a really smart job working at really big companies doing really important smart things. and i'm so happy she's writing for my blog. cuz i always knew she had a writer in her. thx, mon...i love you! 

FREEDOM for 2-99. (An excerpt from my soon-to-be-released novel!***)

Somewhere then I trailed off into the chemical pong of countless mini fans and twangy gossip.   

I found my grasshopper self at an electric organ store in a very brown mall, looking up at a crate of sale records. I pulled out the only one I could reach. It had the face of evil on it with devil makeup and samurai hair, black lipstick and dripping blood. With a big red sticker for $2.99. Yes! My first real freedom! I walked through the very brown organ-slash-miscellaneous-electronics shop, placing the evil record proudly onto the counter. The vested salesman stopped what he was doing, looked at the record, and then at me.  I held up a five-dollar bill. This was it. Me against his giant handlebar moustache and  thinning hair. I want this record and, NO, my mommy is NOT with me. He rang it up and handed it back to me. I had my freedom, for 2-99, devil makeup and samurai hair. I had no idea what I had purchased, but I couldn’t wait to play it backwards at show-n-tell.

devil makeup and dripping blood illustrated by Chris Bettig (thanks!)

***update...chris is actually doing the cover for this novel. as soon as the cover and layout are done...it'll be out!  i'll keep everyone posted on ttf about it. i'm stoked chris is doing the cover. it's going to be rad! stay tuned...