CENTRAL PARK BY ETKIN CAMOGLU 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 30
At ninety-third and Park I dole out a ten, no change needed sir, and walk to Lex fast. You can catch me if can, or not. You try. I take the stairs, no elevator for me and you do the same though I know you’re damn lazy and would push that button and ride up easy breezy but at least, I’ll give you this, at least you have a smidgeon of shame to save face and follow my lead.
“Right here waiting for you,” I say when I open the door and spy said money clip plus keys on the coffee table. I’m tempted to empty the contents and take my present back because you’re the last person to deserve any of my remaining good graces but I stick to classy and opt out, lock myself in the bathroom instead. Which means goodbye, get out, have a horrible night.
“Can we talk, at least, before I go?” you say but I don’t, won’t answer. You can talk to yourself all you want when you get back to Brooklyn. I don’t care. Hell, you have two hands and an imagination plus the internet connection you steal from your landlord two floors down. Cheap motherfucker. You can do all the talking you want till you jerk yourself dead.
“I love you,” you say.
LOIS BY CORA CRUZ 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 30