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Now available for preorder:
The San Francisco Panorama.
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INGREDIENTS: 1 birthday falling on Saturday, yours. 1 unwelcome slide into consciousness. 3 attempts to find reason to get out of bed. 1 threadbare dressing gown. 1 empty house, rented yet sincere. 2 items post, freshly picked from doormat. 1 card from father, containing 20 pound note and weak stab at humour. 1 lumpy jiffy bag, taped up so as to make impossible to breach with bare hands. 1 resigned wander into kitchen. 1 stubbed toe, big. 1 pair scissors, large enough to make half-hearted but sufficient attack on jiffy bag. 1 eggcup from mother, who has forgotten that it's sister that likes eggs. You do not like eggs. 1 perky-looking signature on mother's card, from her new partner. 1 living room chair, slumped into. 3 hours utterly meaningless TV. 1 shower, aimless and overlong. 1 walk into town, rainy. 1 large bar chocolate, purchased with 20 pound note. 1 latent alcohol dependency issue. 1 remaining grandmother who believes you don't eat enough vegetables, and who, without fail, drops by when you are out. 2 carrots with accompanying soil, wrapped in newspaper, stuffed through letterbox. 1 depressing return home. 1 sad and misguided attempt to cook meal for self. 1 tablespoon sugar scraped with difficulty from 2 lb. bag purchased about three years ago for something that required sugar (pasta sauce perhaps?) and haven't touched since, so has gone all hard, but is probably still OK, you think. 1 unrequited and abortive love affair from six or maybe seven years back, dealt with at the time and therefore holding no emotional potency. 1 onion, halved, with pips removed. 1 urgent need for music to distract self from grim reality of cooking task. 1 chicken, grated. 1 old tape radio music which you are unaware contains "Stay (I Missed You)" by Lisa Loeb, about four songs in, a song which six or seven years back was being played on the radio All The Time. 9 minutes of grace. 100ml tears from unexpected and uncontrollable bout of sobbing brought on by opening chords of fourth song and lasting well into the next, and beyond. 1 bottle grim whisky kept for use only in emergencies. 1 turn of volume knob (upward). 1/2 bar chocolate. 1 well-meaning neighbour with phenomenal memory for dates who remembers party you had exactly two years ago — when you still had some friends — and decides to drop by, just to say hi. 2 carrots, unwrapped. 4 knocks on door, unheard. 3 sheets newspaper, dismembered. 1 test of door handle. 2 carrots, washed and peeled with blurred vision. 1 tentative entrance. 2 carrots, chopped with a hatred and bitterness that wells up inside you like screaming fire. 1 chirpy "Hello?," still unheard. 16 large marks in chopping board. Bit carried away there. 1 comforting hand laid on shoulder. 1 startled turn with unintentionally tight grip on sharp knife. 3 long seconds gasping eye contact. 1 whole lot of blood. 15 minutes seated at table in tear-stained stupor, gazing at light's reflection in whisky bottle, and at dark slick growing around body on floor. 1 long, hard birthday think. - - - - DIRECTIONS: Run.
OTHER McSWEENEY'S STORIES:
My New Street Taunts, Vol. I: The Things Which I Will Do to You, if You Cross Me By Amie Barrodale Mother's Day Special: Brunch With Mother By Alysia Gray Painter Norse Legends Reference Pages By Kevin Guilfoile From the Found Notebooks of the Members of Homer's Writing Group By Sean Carman The Porn I Like By Robert Benvie |
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