Three Texts

Kim Chinquee

Feelers

He sat there, messing with his feelers. He'd been a bee and met her at a party where people left with the costume of their liking. Now they were naked, save the feelers. She'd come out of the bathroom, found him sorting, and he asked where was the make-up. "I'm a cactus," she said and he said that that was over. They'd already done it once, and now with the light on, his tattoos, he looked more like a bug now than in costume. She said he looked like a rug and he said he was a ruler. She laughed and he said he was serious.

My Half

He cooked pilaf, though I asked him not to use the meat broth. He had an expensive palate, and I got to liking his fresh organic products, fish straight from the ocean, his European cheeses. At home I couldn't afford it, and after a while at his place, he asked for half of the expenses. He bought me lingerie, filled his wardrobe with Armani, though his socks and briefs were holey. "It's pathological," he told me, and I told him I noticed.

Meet Me

He'd called her beforehand, waiting at her office. She was still at home, trying on her outfits. "Meet me here?" he said. "Meet me there?" she said. It was her night. She would give a talk about herself and then some.
She saw his truck in the lot. The day before, she'd been to his place, digging. His backyard had screws, and he had a detector. They'd been to meets, screaming for a finish. Now she read about a girl screwing and wrestling. She talked. He didn't want. He said to her, please wait.