Once I nearly fell off Riley’s houseboat and drowned. Now, I’m going to get my pants altered.
Took the muscle relaxant. It’s nearly noon, but my hands are still near my fingertips. They say
I’m adjusted, but not well-adjusted. Sometimes my skin melts off my face. Last night the sky
gave me the silent treatment, but if you’re like me, you always keep a bag packed, under the bed.
You never know. Driving out on Tunnel Road, usually I don’t miss myself until it’s too late.
Riley was like that, too. I loved him like a brother. It happened on Good Friday. I don’t trust the
county sheriff’s office. That’s why I asked the judge, Was he found hanged or did he commit
suicide?
What was Riley even doing in jail, anyway?

Brad Rose

Brad Rose

Brad Rose was born and raised in Los Angeles, and lives in Boston. He is a sociologist, and author of a collection of poetry and flash fiction, Pink X-Ray (Big Table Publishing, 2015). His new book of poems, Momentary Turbulence, is forthcoming from Cervena Barva Press. Brad is also the author of five chapbooks of poetry and flash fiction, Democracy of Secrets, Coyotes Circle the Party Store, Dancing School Nerves, An Evil Twin is Always in Good Company, and Away with Words. Twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Brad’s poetry and fiction have appeared in The Los Angeles Times, The American Journal of Poetry, Folio, decomP, Lunch Ticket, The Baltimore Review, Boston Literary Magazine, Right Hand Pointing, and other publications.
Brad Rose

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