Demetri's profile

Paula, do you remember before you died? Nights we would spend in the video store just trying to find something to watch. Remember when we skipped the prom, and danced around my pool. All dolled up, and that was the only place we wanted to be. How about the time we drove to Savannah. Remember that walk we took on Tybie, and the boy who caught the shark. You were fascinated. That was a long time ago. We were all set to move to New York. I was going to go to school, and you would work. We had it...

It’s March, and I am just now washing the summer out of my shirt. The same one I had worn for three days in North Carolina, on the catamaran tour, and while sitting on the beach while Emily read that book on Marianne Faithful. And she would say, it must of have been so great to have lived back then. I would look up from my own book and say, maybe. When I pull the shirt from my bag, sand that had caught a ride in the lining falls off and collects in a small pile. It still smells like the beach...

The astray gives everything away. Like a diary that’s just begging to be read, it leaves nothing to the imagination: who had been there, how long they stayed, and who did most of the talking because people who talk the most smoke the most. As you shared glances over a bottle of wine, each drag off the cigarette acted as the visible commas in the conversation. The glowing red tip would light up to add dramatic effect, just when it was getting good. When the backround music, or as you would hav...

She wore her new dress; the one she just had to have. The one all of her friends said he would love her in, and she waited in line. When she bought two tickets, one for her and one for him, it was because as he removed the straps of her blouse with all the dexterity of surgeon, they made plans. The kind of plans that are made before and during but are never kept after. She wondered if she had gotten the place right or even the time and like so many other things, she had been wrong before. As ...

A good night out Julie and I are just waking up and like someone crashing a dinner party--the sun pushes its way through the blinds: uninvited, and too bright and cheery for its own good. Julie says she doesn’t remember too much about last night, and I say it’s on account of the conspiracies they’ve been bottling down at the Coors Light factory. Then she says she may have left an important part of her brain at the bar, and we might have to go back and find it. I ask if it’s her brain or just...