as the grrl promised  Jenna  she promised

the French Roast wasnt her favorite so if he wanted to return the cup after he tried it shed be happy to replace it with another brew

--   Though  admittedly  itd be a less dark roast

--   No thank you Jenna  I need a belt in the mouth right about now  Something unappealing 

is the order of the day  As long as it doesnt taste like a mouthful of dogshit 

you and I will be fine

he loved then  the enfeebled expression she hung on her goodnatured freckled face

a shingle advertising 

What am I supposed to say to that

Ah  he took pity on her

her manager stood over her right shoulder by the tall cisterns of brewed coffee

--   I dont think corporate has instructed an appropriate reply for that one kiddo  I am 

confident it wont taste like dogshit  It cant  You have pound bags of it stacked all around 

the shop

he smiled

she burst out laughing  and covering her mouth with her hand

she shouldnt have  her laughing face complimented her bright countenance perfectly

it wasnt his favorite either

but he was trying to rid himself of Beloved  which nearly lingered inside his mouth and 

scorched the length of his optic nerves

a gawdawful teethrotting sweetness he never acquired a taste for

earlier   he randomly grabbed three collections of poetry off a used bookstores shelves   

and more randomly he opened the hardbound books deep into their texts

the lines he read

reading what his eyes fell on

each contained  and relished  Beloved

he  simply  could not tolerate Beloved

he could not tolerate its affectation or realistically squeeze himself to assume the psychological psychic aptitude necessary of how a mouth or mind might harbor it

Beloved

long ago he let that dribble dry to a saccharine white stain spoiling in the dirt  uncovered 

untrammeled like a dog and less a cat

it registered in his eyes

and forewarned his tongue neatly and effortlessly vaulted over it

a blank to be packed by whomever wished to cobble its parcels together

let someone else struggle with it in their mouth

let their tongue dig it out like odd deposits of poor peanut butter

and him  humoured

by the visual gymnastics of it worked behind their alert pensive faces

Yes  Not pleasant

Funny the things in our lives that generate particular kneejerk reactions

the Awws

retches

faintings

he had a workout partner

a really big beefy guy

who went ass-over-teakettle

fell

and broke his nose on a stack of dumbbells

a stitch in his hand he thought had sufficiently healed broke and bled after his lift

he casually wiped it on his tshirt

and at the sight of blood the big ape dropped

Whodathought

certainly not him

his nose didnt heal well

he didnt get it fixed

he fashioned a beautifully creative lie around it

and since they were the only two who really knew the truth of the matter

the lie became the truth

                                                      and hed take that bloody truth to his grave

What the hell

when our lives are manipulated by stories we have to inhabit   
who are we not to allow ourselves the generosity of an occasional welldeveloped muscular fiction

Beloved  .  .  .  fiction

1410,  Friday,  29  8. 14