Tuesday, December 20, 2011

He had been amazed when she had agreed to go on the first in what would become (to his continued amazement) a considerable number of dates. He had been amazed further still when she began to spend hours at a time with him in his small apartment, which, for the last fifteen years, had held only himself and, for the last ten, his increasingly obese dog—except for occasional visits from his elderly mother who came primarily to make dire comments about his failure to produce grandchildren. Perhaps most amazing of all was the moment he realized that she was not opposed to the idea of him making love to her, which he did, like a clumsy, asthmatic turtle. So when he found the note on his kitchen counter, folded neatly and initialed in her flowery script, he was expecting anything but the message he found inside, which read simply:

It’s just not working out. I’m sorry.


The note delivered a blow straight to his argyle-checked stomach. He sank to the floor, where his dog trotted over and watched him nervously. He buried his face into the soft dog tummy and cried. Cried like an infant with his round shoulders squared forward and shaking with sobs. The dog, mildly interested, lifted its nose to snuffle wetly against his sweater, leaving an abstract dark blot as evidence.


  1. Hey Sammi, it's James from the coffee shop. Just got through the first set of snippets and I found myself rather intrigued by all of the character studies in the collaborative work from June. Anything more like that in the works?

  2. I'm glad you liked it! I've been really slacking off on my writing productivity level lately what with school taking up all of my time but that is definitely something that I would like to do again, and hopefully I'll have a new one done not too long from now.

  3. Excellent news on the upcoming writing. Keep an eye out for me at the shop tonight and tomorrow evening. I have a lot of my own writing on the agenda but discussing it would make for a perfect diversion.