He really wanted this job, it was made for him. Nervous, palms beginning to sweat, sole applicant waiting in reception with the secretary and the trade magazines. Flushing the toilet, covering the sounds while unfolding his wrap, the credit card chop. Flushing again for the sniff. In full stride now, leaning over the smoked glass desk to emphasis a point.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007. When was The Swank Bisexual Wine Bar of Modernity. I began it some time at the end of the last century with a story called Vic Chews It Over which was published in Ambit. It was finally completed some time at the beginning of the new one by a slightly older version of myself. If you see him, phone the authorities. Is the short story important to you? Do you consider it relevant? Is this a trick question? What else did you expect me to say? .

Friday, October 19, 2007. The Modem Is The Message. Stiff winds blow court walls. Where white haired women bathe;. Hair piled high, vine roots rusted. In eyes that scour the prose rag. All tilt beds worn down and tasted. And in comes the sun crow, timidly. Drinking sulky cat sour milk sickness. Hotel very clean no cockroaches at all.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007. Created I would have wailed. Check out their myspace page.