“Wild Gourmet Fish” by Julia on the bed

Monday May 25, 2020
1:08pm
5 minutes
West Coast Select Flyer

Haley and Hartley miss making shrimp skewers.
Shrimp has been expensive lately, and the old grill is kaput.
Haley and Hartley can eat other things so it’s okay.
Hartley says the grill never really worked that well.
Haley thinks he’s full of shit because she used to grill
all kinds of vegetables and never had a problem with it.
Hartley got rid of the grill one day and said it was done.
Haley wondered if Hartley was exaggerating and
didn’t want to do some necessary things with it first,
like check to see if it needed a deep clean (like most
things in the apartment) before tossing it to the alley-way
mafia coming by in 10 minute intervals to go through the
bins. Hartley told her that it was for sure done and it
never worked that well to begin with and Haley didn’t go
down and check so she decided to accept the fate of the
old grill even though she couldn’t bring herself to believe
what Hartley was telling her about it. Maybe because once
Hartley threw away some of the mason jars she had stored
under the sink next to the grill. She went looking for them
one day because she was storing them for a reason and they
weren’t there. It took a week for Hartley to admit that he
had thrown them out. He said he didn’t think she needed them.

“I’m on Prozac, did I tell you?” by Julia at the Toronto Reference Library


Friday, May 15, 2015 at the Toronto Reference Library
4:27pm
5 minutes
View From The Dome
Theresa Rebeck


Oh I didn’t tell you? I thought I told you. Cause somehow everybody knows so I thought you knew and I thought I told you. Well. I am. So now you know. Anything you want to tell me now? Any burning truths you want to share? Cause I didn’t share just so you would share but I did have a hope that it might open you up to if I went first.
But. No. You don’t reciprocate. And for the record I feel like I’ve made it quite easy for you, but no, that’s okay, everybody’s different, what’s mine is not necessarily yours. Your bag I mean. Your style. Your cup of tea. Your safe is locked tight, hey? Your ‘can’t keep it in anymore cause it’s corroding your insides’ stuff is not like mine–which actually does inflict physical pain on me if I choose not to purge.