i realized that i haven't just been poetry lately. i've been posting traditional poems, plays, and prose poetry. in keeping with the idea of switching it up, i'm sharing an old prose piece that i had written a long time ago. go figure, it's about the same problems i'm dealing with now. what's wrong with this picture? let me know what you think.

"in cold love"

the truth. will set. you free. the truth will set you free. the truth—? the truth will—what? free? free? oh! free! breathe. free. free, like black ice on a snow calmed street. like the white light where two cars meet. light! green. yellow. then red. then white. and sleet. lots, and lots, of ominous sleet. it was an hour ago when I wanted to leave. and the truth, I hear, the truth will set you free. but if I floor the motherfucker, truth won't catch up to me. and I still said "I love you." hope I make it home in pieces. unadulterated reason. adultery in season: the dead. of. winter. keyword, dead. like a shotgun to the head—but to the streets, my love! to the streets instead. your lips: the needle, his skin: the thread. a stick shift away from a cold blooded spread. in. cold. blood: this, this is love. and jesus, I love you, like apologetic regret. and that's just what you said. the liquor still on your breath: "the truth—will set—me free." you were already crying. you were looking at me. makeup running as fast as my feet. remember my face, dear. this is the last that you'll see. and jesus, I'll still love you, when I'm thrown from my seat. head through the windshield. heart down the street. and the truth. will set. you free. you said: "the truth will set you free." the truth—? the truth will—what? free? free? oh! free! breathe. free. free, like black ice on a snow calmed street.

here's my latest play. it's being read in class tomorrow. i'll let everybody know how it is received. let me know what you think! author's note: i use my name and the names of my friends for characters because i hate thinking up new names. the stories that i tell having nothing to do with me or my friends. usually.

"SO MUCH FOR INITIATIVE."

KYLE: troubled teenager

MIKE: advice-giving friend

HOSTESS: a hostess

WAITRESS: a waitress

(lights up in an empty booth of a big, family oriented restaurant. a dull buzz of chatter and clinking kitchenware can be heard.

ENTER KYLE and MIKE, guided by a HOSTESS.)

HOSTESS: Here you are. A server will be with you in just a second.

KYLE: Thanks.

MIKE: Thank you.

(the HOSTESS hands them menus, and MIKE checks her out as she walks away.)

MIKE: Mmm. Hot.

KYLE: I guess.

MIKE: What?

KYLE: What?

MIKE: Kyle, she was hot!

KYLE: "Yeah," I said.

MIKE: You said you "guess."

KYLE: Right, I guess.

MIKE: Whatever.

KYLE: Okay, then.

MIKE: What's your problem?

KYLE: Nothing?

MIKE: Okay, then.

(they look over their menus.

after some silence:)

MIKE: What're you getting?

KYLE: I don't know. I'm not hungry.

MIKE: (slamming his menu down.) What? What the hell, man?

KYLE: I don't know, Mike. I'm just not that hungry.

MIKE: What are we doing here, then?

KYLE: I don't know. It's Friday. You wanted to go out

MIKE: Fuck you! You said you wanted to get Applebee's. Don't put it on me.

KYLE: Whatever.

MIKE: Shit, man. (sarcastically) Sorry for dragging you out.

KYLE: I'll forgive you.

(pause. KYLE is looking in the menu. MIKE is staring at KYLE.)

MIKE: Do you just wanna go?

KYLE: I don't know, I guess. Yeah.

(pause)

MIKE: Fuck you. I'm getting wings.

KYLE: Alright, then.

MIKE: You can starve.

KYLE: I'm not even hungry.

MIKE: Whatever, dude. You're being a bitch.

(ENTER WAITRESS, she walks up with a pen and a pad ready. She speaks fast.)

WAITRESS: Hey guys I'm Jenny and I'll be helping you two tonight what can I get for you two to drink?

MIKE: I'll have a sprite.

KYLE: I'll have a water.

JENNY: (while scribbling) Alright are we ready to order or do you's need more time?

MIKE: We're ready.

KYLE: No, uhh, can we have one more minute?

JENNY: Sure thing I'll be back with your drinks in a second.

(EXIT JENNY)

MIKE: What the hell, dude?

KYLE: What?

MIKE: You said you weren't hungry.

KYLE: Well, I am now.

(pause. KYLE continues looking over the menu.)

MIKE: Alright, what's your problem? Seriously?

KYLE: Dude, there's nothing.

MIKE: Dude, what is it?

KYLE: It's nothing, man.

MIKE: So there's something?

KYLE: What? No, I said there's nothing.

MIKE: No, you said "IT'S nothing." Which means there's something.

KYLE: Whatever.

MIKE: Well, what is it?

KYLE: Dude, fuck off, it's nothing.

MIKE: Fine. Fuck you. Baby.

(pause)

MIKE: Well, what're you getting?

KYLE: (interrupting) It's Sheri, dude.

MIKE: What? Who?

KYLE: Sheri. Sheri Healey.

MIKE: Who the hell is that?

KYLE: A girl. She's cute as fuck.

MIKE: Who is she?

KYLE: I don't know, this girl I like, dude. She works at Pizza Hut. Short, dark hair. Boobs. Nice ass. I don't know, dude. You'd know her if you've seen her.

MIKE: Sounds hot.

KYLE: She is. She's really nice, too. Not a bitch. She's really funny.

MIKE: So you talk to her?

KYLE: Sometimes, yeah.

MIKE: Got her number?

KYLE: Yeah, I've got it.

MIKE: Fucking hit that.

KYLE: Shut up, dude.

MIKE: What?

KYLE: It's not like that. She's a nice girl, dude.

MIKE: So? What the hell?

KYLE: You're a dick. I don't want to fuck her.

MIKE: No? So then, she's not hot? I don't follow you.

KYLE: No, I mean, I want to, but, like, I don't know, it's different.

MIKE: You're talking like a fag.

KYLE: Fuck you, dude. I want to fuck her, alright? But it's different. I don't JUST want to fuck her. Yeah, that's it. There's more to it than that, alright?

MIKE: (contemplates what KYLE says, can't seem to understand it.) Alright, I guess I get you.

KYLE: You're an idiot, dude.

MIKE: No, I'm not. You're just weird, man. What's the problem, then? What's your deal?

KYLE: I don't know, dude. It's hard to say. It's like -----

(ENTER JENNY again, pen and pad ready.)

JENNY: You's all set?

MIKE: Yeah, we're set.

KYLE: Yeah.

JENNY: Alright what can I getcha's?

MIKE: Can I get boneless buffalo wings, classic, with extra blue-cheese?

JENNY: Sure can. What about you?

KYLE: I'm gonna have an order mozzarella sticks.

JENNY: Alright I'll put those right in for you's.

KYLE: Thanks.

MKE: Thank you.

(JENNY grabs the menus and walks away. MIKE checks her out.)

MIKE: She's hot, too.

KYLE: Yeah.

MIKE: Alright, so, what?

KYLE: What?

MIKE: About this chick, Sheri? What's your deal?

KYLE: I don't know, dude. It's weird.

MIKE: You're weird. Just tell me what's up.

KYLE: I just don't get her.

MIKE: What's there to get? She's a hot chick. Go for it. Bang her.

KYLE: Dude, come on.

MIKE: Alright, alright. I'm just messing. Not really, but whatever.

KYLE: I just can't tell if she's into me. She's fucking weird sometimes.

MIKE: Who cares if she's into you? Girls don't need to be into you to sleep with you. You need alcohol. That's how they work. You don't have to be good-looking to get a piece of ass. Look at me, dude. I'm ugly. But throw a couple of beers in a chick and I'm Brad fucking Pitt.

KYLE: What the hell, man? I said I'm not looking for that. Not this time.

MIKE: I know, I know. I'm just kidding around. I mean, not really, but if you're looking for something else, then I'll try to help.

KYLE: Alright.

MIKE: Alright, so what? She with some other dude?

KYLE: I don't know, I don't think so. But I know she's got guys after her. She's hot, dude. And nice. And funny.

MIKE: Alright, well, you've got to beat them to the punch.

KYLE: What?

MIKE: You've got to step-up, dude. You're not going to know if she's into you or not if you don't step your game up.

KYLE: Alright.

MIKE: Like, you're a cool dude. You're funny, sometimes. I'm gonna guess and say you're good-looking to girls. You're nice. Too nice, probably. But she's not going to know any of this if you don't show her. You get me?

KYLE: Yeah, yeah. I get you.

MIKE: Look, all joking aside. A girl likes a guy with initiative. If you're a wimp, you won't make it. If you wait, you won't make it. You've got to be aggressive. Show her you like her, or whatever.

KYLE: Right.

MIKE: You can't wait around and expect things to happen on their own. Suck it up, take aim, and take charge, dude.

KYLE: Alright, alright.

MIKE: Initiative, man. It all boils down to initiative. Take the initiative.

KYLE: I guess you're right.

MIKE: I am, dude. How often do you guys talk?

KYLE: I don't know. Whenever I see her. Or whenever I text her.

MIKE: Have you called her?

KYLE: Yeah, once. I don't know, I just felt like I was bothering her.

MIKE: Did you ask her out or anything?

KYLE: No, dude.

MIKE: Dude, why? She probably thinks you're a weirdo now. How long did you guys talk for?

KYLE: I don't know, like 15 minutes. She had to go or something.

MIKE: Did she tell you to give her a call some other time or something?

KYLE: I don't know, dude.

MIKE: Dude, did she?

KYLE: Yeah, but I don't know, man. She's not into me. She didn't have to go, she just didn't want to talk. I know it. I'm not fucking stupid.

MIKE: Yes, you are, man! You're an idiot! Fucking call her again. Don't be a bitch. Ask her out. You like this chick, right?

KYLE: Yeah.

MIKE: You want to be with her, right?

KYLE: Yeah.

MIKE: You want to be ON her, right?

KYLE: Dude, come on.

MIKE: Alright, alright, I'll stop. But initiative, man. I'm telling you. Call her.

KYLE: Alright, dude, I will.

(pause)

MIKE: (sees somebody, squints.) Ouch. Hot, dude.

KYLE: Who?

MIKE: Girl who just walked in. By the door. With the meathead next to her.

KYLE: (looks over his shoulder, sees her, then ducks back down.) Fuck, dude.

MIKE: What?

KYLE: That's her, man. That's Sheri.

MIKE: What? (laughs) No way, man.

KYLE: It is, dude. It's her.

MIKE: (continues laughing) Weird, dude. What're the chances? She's hot as hell, man.

KYLE: I know, dude. What the hell? Weird.

MIKE: It is. Now do what you gotta do.

KYLE: What?

MIKE: What do you mean, what?

KYLE: What the fuck do I have to do? What are you talking about?

MIKE: Fucking go say something! Say "Hey!"

KYLE: No way, man! Get out of here!

MIKE: Dude, don't be a little bitch. We just got done talking about this. Initiative. Get of your whiny little comfort zone and do something.

KYLE: Dude, I'm not. She's with a fucking dude. A big one.

MIKE: So? What's he going to do? We're in a fucking restaurant. Act like you're going to the bathroom, then you happen to see her, and detour. Say "Hey," make small talk, and leave. Get her thinking about you while she's out with this other tool.

KYLE: I don't know, man.

MIKE: I do. Just do it.

KYLE: I'm not doing it.

MIKE: Oh my god, man. You do it, I pay for your mozzarella sticks.

KYLE: Yeah, right.

MIKE: I will. It's after 10. Appetizers are half price.

KYLE: This is crazy.

MIKE: You're crazy if you don't do it. Just go. Now. Go. Go. Go. Initiative, man. Initiative.

KYLE: Fuck, man. Alright, alright. But just because I have to take a piss. And you're paying for my fucking food.

MIKE: I'll be watching. Go!

KYLE: This is so stupid.

(KYLE walks off-stage. MIKE waits, watching. While KYLE is gone, JENNY brings their mozzarella sticks and buffalo wings.

MIKE: Thanks.

MIKE starts to eat. After some time, you can hear KYLE talking, still offstage)

KYLE: Oh, hey! Sheri! ---- Yeah, weird! ---- Yeah, I'm out with my friend Mike. ---- Yeah, (laughs), can't beat half-price appetizers! ---- Yeah, it's the best. ---- Alright, well, I'll leave you two alone. ---- Yeah. Okay. Well, I'll give you a call sometime. ----

(offstage, quickly, a chair is heard being slid back. a punch is heard, and KYLE moans. onstage, MIKE looks up. his jaw drops.)

KYLE: Ah, fuck. (nervously) Alright. Well, uh, ouch. See you guys later.

ENTER KYLE again. he sits down, slouches, holding his mouth. MIKE stares.

KYLE: So much for initiative, you asshole.

MIKE: Dude, what the fuck happened?

KYLE: I got decked in the teeth by her fucking boyfriend. That's what happened.

MIKE: Dude, sorry.

KYLE: Dude, shut up.

(KYLE tries to eat. Moans. lights down).

my professor was talking about how certain poets tend to revisit certain themes in their poetry. if something happened to them in their life, they can't seem to get away from it and for whatever reason it shows in most of their poetry. i didn't think i was like this until she mentioned it and i looked back on all of my poetry. i don't want to go into details but i fell in love and my life turned to hell when i was betrayed over and over again. i've never been the same, i don't trust anybody, i don't have faith in anything, except in my poetry. and in most of my poems, i revisit this infidelity. here's another example, from early on. i wrote this at least 2 years ago. it's just funny how i'm still dealing with this girl now. the same bullshit.

"bulimia"

like an upturned jar of butterflies
my stomach would capsize
and you'd slip, cascading
your way through my
c r o o k e d t e e t h
wearing the spaces
like toxic sheathes.
sometimes you'd
come back every week,
with your meek little fingers
and lies I believed—
I was gagging on vowels;
you were lacing the towels
on my bathroom floor.
when my throat would dry
you'd run and hide but
on the backs of my
c r o o k e d t e e t h
I could taste you

recently in my creative writing class, we have been workshopping. workshopping, for our class at least, is when a student of the class brings in a poem to read aloud for the rest of the class. the writer/reader can offer no disclaimer before he/she reads. they just have to say the title, and read it off. after they read, they're not aloud to talk until the class contemplates and converses about the poem for 12 minutes. they can offer criticism, likes, dislikes, or just mull it over. after that, the poet has a chance to say what he/she wants, if he/she wants to say anything. i haven't been picked to workshop yet, and i'm still undecided as to what i want to bring in. the workshop is meant to be used as a tool to improve the poem and make it the best it can be. i don't know if i have the heart to bring in a poem of mine to be taken apart and reassembled, but i won't worry about that yet. for now, i have to pick one! here's something i wrote about the same relationship i always write about.

"like we used to say"

you stood up and
undressed yourself
laid your jeans on the
carpet, even slipped
out of your boyshorts,
my favorite. this time,
you didn't ask
for forgiveness.
your body was
an apology and
your flesh: regret
and you crawled
back to me
naked in my bed
into my arms and
into my heart and
into my head.
and
I want to feel your
imperfections
inside and out again
"forever,"
like we used to say.

this week in my intro. to creative writing class, we had to write a poem in the form of a letter. those were our only instructions, so i took a literal approach to it with a twisted shift. i addressed my letter to a time period, instead of who or what the time period is about. i thought it offered a different take on an otherwise simple topic. also, being valentines day, we are assigned to write an "untraditional valentine." i'll be posting that when i finish it. anyway, here you go:

"Dear July 31st of 2008 to February 2nd of 2010:"

Dear July 31st of 2008 to February 2nd of 2010:

I'm writing this in regard to your shortcomings--

in retrospect of your flaws, your deficiencies,

in reexamination of your terrible imperfection,

of the scarcity of your good days, and of your

all too common sleepless nights, in hindsight

of your rude awakening, finally, in heed of

what you took advantage of, my body fast

asleep, in looking back to your curves and

choking back my fears, in tears I am writing -

this - in particular attention to your impractical

fidelity, or lack thereof, to your flings, to your

body which I do miss, to your piggy pink lipstick

and its kisses on my neck and, also, more-so on

the necks of others, outlandish elbows under

our covers, and what were we but

misconstrued lovers. this is not in ultimatum,

not in final demand, not in request, not in asking,

again, and again, of change,

this is a lifted weight. it's been real -

no, hell, it's been terribly, regretfully fake. and

for fuck's sake, a year and a half isn't enough

to take my breath away forever.

Yours truly,

Never Again.

i think the poem i'm sharing with you this week epitomizes the way i've been feeling. i've been waking up every day depressed, knowing that i'm occupying the rest of my day with things that don't better me as a person. instead, they work me into a mold that i don't want to fit, where everybody else fits who can't break away. this is the majority of the people i see around me. working jobs they hate, getting paid barely enough to get by, putting their energy into things that benefit the community and never themselves. i say, be selfish. better yourself. be something or someone different. also, go read fight club. and this, what i wrote the other day:

"there's something inside me, dying."

there's something inside me, dying.
my motivation's color, it's going gray,
and my innovation has growing pains.
these days,
my creativity can't throw a spiral
and my individuality can't catch.
I stopped by the supermarket
to pick up Rogaine
for my inspiration's receding hairline.
my originality
my personality
my identity
needs to pay the utilities
so that there's running water
for my ingenuity's shower
before work in the morning.
my soul uses public transportation,
and my imagination carpools.
after work, my passion gets a bite to eat
at McDonald's.
supersized.
my fountain of youth is a clogged artery
and regret is the heart attack,
waiting to happen.
there's something inside me,
dying.

i decided to post this for a couple of reasons. it might not look like poetry, but i learned in class, that it is. it's "prose" poetry. it's a short one-shot, might not seem poetic, but that's what i like about it. also, if you haven't already, i know it's a lot, but read my play in the previous post!

"Our Christmas-tree is Fake"

Our Christmas-tree is fake. When I get home from work, before my family gets in, sometimes, I stare at it. I look at the ornaments that hang from plastic. I touch the golden macaronis I glued onto my first-grade soccer picture. The ball is close to my chest and the bowl-haircut is nearing the smile between my fat cheeks. My brother's rosy kindergarden face is cut out and taped onto an angel underneath its halo. His eyes are big and black and his lips are ringed and chapped. He doesn't like the tree - he told me. Nearby, Santa is hanging, lounging on a lawn-chair in a NY Giants jersey and cap. His thick belly makes him heavy for an ornament, but the plastic branches never bend. There aren't any pine-needles on the floor. There isn't any water leaking at my feet. There's no rich, bitter smell - nothing - at my nose. But there are red and white lights resting systematically on symmetric pipes. I hear our heavy front-door push open and light steps pitter-patter in the other room. My mom is home. She shouts and asks if later maybe I would help her set up the manger, since, this year, I didn't decorate the tree. I walk into my room, and I close my door. I don't shout back. I'm on my bed with my face in a book when I hear my brothers feet dragging. I know they're my brothers feet, because his are the only ones that drag like mine. They stop outside my door, at our fake tree. I keep reading. I hear a creak, a snap, and a crash, and I put down my book. There are heavy work-boot steps rustling when I feel my dad's voice through the wall. He says, calmly, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" And my brother, he says he didn't mean to.

this week i decided i would post my first play. in addition to my creative writing course this semester, i'm taking playwriting. each week, we are to write one 10 minute play, and hand it in for the class to read. the only directions our professor gave us was that it had to have 2 characters with a conflict. that was it. there were 8 volunteers that were having their play read aloud to the class, and i was one of them. i thought that this would motivate me to really try for it, considering it was at the mercy of everybody's critiques--not just my professor. anyway, i wrote it, and it was read in front of class, and the feedback was great. my professor loved it, he was cracking up the whole time. we talked about my play alone for around 25 minutes. everybody had something different, but good, to say about it. there was one girl that it particularly offended, but that just made me more happy. i couldn't stop smiling, and i thought i had a right to. i was genuinely proud of something i had done for the first time in my life. so here it is, "water in lungs."

"WATER IN LUNGS"

by Kyle Carrier

JOHNNY: tattoo artist

BEN: getting tattooed

SHELLY: Johnny’s wife

Lights up inside JOHNNY's tattoo parlor. JOHNNY, big guy, covered in tattoos, is sketching behind the counter. Radio is playing. The parlor bell rings.

ENTER BEN, little guy, glasses. He walks up to the counter, where JOHNNY is still sketching.

BEN. Do you guys do walk-ins?

JOHNNY. Looking up, friendly, What's up?

BEN. Hey, what's up? Do you guys do walk-ins?

JOHNNY. Sure do, depends on the work.

BEN. Just something little.

JOHNNY. laughing, Like what?

BEN. Just some words, in script.

JOHNNY. Yeah? Where at?

BEN. with his hand over his heart, Here.

JOHNNY. For sure. You're looking to get it done today?

BEN. If that's cool.

JOHHNY. Sure is. What've you got in mind?

JOHNNY hands BEN a piece of paper, and a pencil.

BEN. Well… draws for a little bit, finishes, hands JOHNNY the sketch and pencil.

JOHNNY. Yeah?

BEN. Yeah.

JOHNNY. That from a song?

BEN. Yeah.

JOHNNY. Alright, alright.

JOHNNY pauses, mulls over the sketch, then breaks from concentration.

JOHNNY. Alright, cool, man. Tell you what, I'll have this drawn up in a couple of minutes, you take a seat on the couch, fill this out -- just some regulatory shit.

JOHNNY hands him the paperwork.

JOHNNY. I'm Johhny, by the way.

BEN. Ben.

They shake hands, and BEN takes a seat while JOHNNY gets drawing.

BEN. after some silence, She means the world to me.

JOHHNY. Oh yeah? Who's that?

BEN. My wife. Well, my girlfriend. We're going to get married, though, some day. That's who this is for. It's for her.

JOHNNY. still sketching, Cool bro, engaged?

BEN. No.

JOHNNY. No? Gonna propose?

BEN. No, not yet.

JOHNNY. I hear ya. How old are you two?

BEN. I'm nineteen, she's twenty.

JOHNNY. Ah, shit, too young to tie the knot. Way too young. Laughs.

BEN. Yeah. What about you? Are you married?

JOHNNY. Yes sir, five years. No ink to show for it though, you got me on that one.

BEN. Why not? You're covered anyway.

JOHNNY. laughs, Yeah, man, but I've got the ring. And if I catch her cheating, I can take it off. You can't take off a tattoo. laughs again.

BEN. But, you're married--do you think she'd ever do that?

JOHNNY. Truthfully, no, bro. But I don't care how loyal someone says they are. The fact is, shit happens, and I'm not risking my body for it. laughs again.

BEN. Yeah.

JOHNNY. Yeah. Well, what do you think?

BEN gets up, hands JOHNNY the finished paperwork, and looks at the final drawing. BEN nods in approval.

JOHNNY. Alright man, let's get this needle in you. Take your shirt off and lie down on the table in there.

BEN. Alright.

BEN walks over to a chair, takes his shirt off, and lays down on the table in the room over. JOHNNY follows with the drawing, gets a bottle of black, gray, and white ink. JOHNNY gets his needle out and prepped, turns the air compressor on. A buzzing sound.

BEN. She really does mean the world to me.

JOHNNY. I hear ya, bro. I believe you. laughs.

JOHNNY puts on latex gloves, grabs the needle. JOHNNY leans over BEN, the gun buzzing. JOHNNY starts the work, BEN cringes for a second, then relaxes with the sting.

BEN. I mean, she really does.

JOHNNY. Right on, man.

BEN. You think I'm nuts.

JOHNNY. No way, bro. Does she know about this?

BEN. It's a surprise.

JOHNNY. Right on. You must really love her.

BEN. I do. That's why I'm doing this. Because I love her.

JOHNNY. Well, you know how to show it. I sure hope she loves you, dude. laughs

BEN. She does. She has to. She tells me she does.

JOHNNY. You don't sound so sure.

BEN. What?

JOHNNY. You don't sound so sure, man.

BEN. Well, she does. She loves me.

JOHNNY. Alright, dude.

BEN. She doesn't mean the things she does. She told me that. She loves me.

JOHNNY. Oh, yeah?

BEN. Yeah. I know she loves me. She just does stupid things sometimes. That's it. She doesn't mean it.

JOHNNY. She fucking another dude? laughs

BEN. She does, sometimes. But she isn't going to anymore, she told me that. Because she loves me.

JOHNNY. Shit man, I'm sorry.

BEN. For what?

JOHNNY. I don't know, I wasn't being an ass. I was just fucking with you.

BEN. It's alright.

The parlor bell rings. ENTER SHELLY in a jacket with a waitress uniform showing underneath.

SHELLY. Babe.

JOHNNY. What's up, honey?

SHELLY. Tired.

SHELLY walks over to the two of them, kisses JOHNNY while he is still tattooing. He doesn't stop.

JOHNNY. How was work?

SHELLY. Hell.

JOHNNY. Aw, I'm sorry.

SHELLY. Have you eaten?

JOHNNY. No, I'm fine though. I'll eat when I get home.

SHELLY. Here, your favorite.

SHELLY hands him a doggy bag of buffalo wings.

JOHNNY. Aw, you're the best.

They kiss.

SHELLY. Alright, I'm out of here. Just wanted to keep you fed. Love you.

JOHNNY. Thanks, babe. I'll see you when I get home. Might be late, I've got one more guy booked after this.

SHELLY. Okay, see you, bye.

EXIT SHELLY, the parlor bell rings.

BEN. Wife?

JOHNNY. No, my sister. Yeah, my wife. laughs

BEN. She's sweet. That was nice of her.

JOHNNY. Yeah, she's great. What's your girly's name?

BEN. Cassie. Cass.

JOHNNY stops. Lets go of the foot pedal, buzzing stops. Presses back on the foot pedal and continues working.

JOHNNY. Oh, yeah? That's cool, man.

BEN. Yeah, I love her.

JOHNNY. I'll say! laughs.

BEN. Yeah.

JOHNNY. She'll like this.

BEN. I hope so. She told me I didn't love her. She said that's why she does the things she does, sometimes. She said I had to show her.

JOHNNY. Well, I hope this does it for you, bro.

BEN. It will. It has to. She means the world to me. Once she sees this, she's going to love me so much. She's never going to touch another guy again. She said she was going to stop, and after she sees this, she will.

Silence. Awkward, JOHNNY says nothing. then,

JOHNNY. Well, I hope she stops too. For your sake, man.

BEN. She's the only girl I've ever loved.

JOHNNY. That's a good thing, dude.

BEN. She's the only girl I've ever even touched.

JOHNNY. That's something to be proud of, man, you're a rarity.

BEN. getting worked up, I try to tell her that I love her, but she fucks other guys.

JOHNNY. I'm sure it's got nothing to do with you, man. It's on her.

BEN. getting more worked up, No, it's me. But not after this. She's going to love me.

Silence. Awkward. Then, JOHNNY's cell-phone rings.

JOHNNY. Ah, shit. Give me a second.

JOHNNY lets off the foot pedal, buzzing stops. Rushing, he puts the needle down. Takes his gloves off, and grabs his cell-phone out of his pocket. Checks the number.

JOHNNY. Shit.

JOHNNY puts his phone back.

JOHNNY. Fucking telemarketers, man. They've got my cell now.

BEN stares. JOHNNY gets his gloves back on, buzzing going, and starts tattooing again.

JOHNNY. What'd you say her name was? Your girl?

BEN. Cassie. But I call her Cass.

JOHNNY. She got a daddy? laughs. Last name, man?

BEN. Greenwood.

JOHNNY. You don't say? Name rings a bell.

BEN. Yeah?

JOHNNY. Yeah, might've seen her around. Has she come in here to get ink, do you know?

BEN. No, she doesn't have tattoos. I don't think she knows this place exists.

JOHNNY. Yeah. Well, shit, who knows, then. Thought I might've tattooed her. Guess not.

BEN. No.

JOHNNY. Yeah, man.

JOHNNY's cell-phone rings again. He doesn't flinch, doesn't pick it up, let's it ring.

JOHNNY. Almost done here, bro. How you holding up?

BEN. It's fine. It's worth it.

JOHNNY. For sure, man. She'll love it.

BEN. I hope so. I really do love her.

JOHNNY. You do. You've got balls, man. I mean, I love Shelly too, you know? But something's just stopping me from putting it on my body. Cause, you know, shit happens, man. Like, I'll get her name on my forehead, she'll suck off some other dude, and fuck, I'm stuck with Shelly on my skin for the rest of my life.

BEN. Yeah, I guess so.

JOHNNY. I mean, I could tell everyone it's my dead dog, right? laughs. Shelly. My dog. My old dog. Dead. People love their dogs that much, right? That would work.

BEN. Yeah, that would work.

JOHNNY. I hope everything works out for you and Cass, man. I really do.

BEN. Me too.

JOHNNY lets off the foot pedal one last time, the buzzing stops. He takes his gloves off, and stretches.

JOHNNY. Alright, shit, man. Looks great. Take a look.

BEN gets up slow, sore, and stands in front of the mirror. He reads the words on his chest aloud, more to himself than to JOHNNY.

BEN. "I need you, like water in my lungs."

JOHNNY. Fuck yeah, man. What do you think?

BEN. It's perfect. I love it.

JOHNNY. I do too, if I do say so myself.

JOHNNY's phone starts ringing again. He takes it out, looks at it nervously, and silences it. BEN slowly slips his shirt back on over his aching chest.

BEN. How much do I owe?

JOHNNY. Shit man, forget about it. It's on me.

BEN. No, really, how much?

JOHNNY. Dude, house tattoo. It took no time at all.

BEN. Are you sure?

JOHNNY. For sure, man.

BEN. That's really nice of you. I really appreciate it.

JOHNNY. Dude, it's no big. You're a cool kid.

BEN. Thanks. Do you think she'll like it?

JOHNNY. Oh, man, laughs, she'll love it.

BEN. Good.

JOHNNY. Alright, man, it's been real. I've gotta make a call, and got that appointment coming in.

BEN. Alright.

JOHNNY and BEN shake hands.

BEN. Thanks a lot, I really mean it.

JOHNNY. Dude, you're welcome. I'll see you around

BEN. See ya. starts to walk away

JOHNNY. Later, man.

BEN. Later.

EXIT BEN. JOHNNY stands there, anxious, waiting to hear BEN's car pull out.

JOHNNY. to himself, Shit.

He takes out his phone again, and dials.

JOHNNY. Hey Cass. -- Yeah, sorry. -- No, I was tattooing. -- Yeah. -- Yeah. -- No, I'm fine. -- Just something weird. -- I'll tell you about it in a bit. -- Yeah, I'll come by in a little. Just got to wrap up shop. -- No, no more appointments today. -- Yeah, that's it. -- Alright, babe. -- Yeah, I love you too. Bye.

JOHNNY hangs up phone. Starts putting everything away. Lights down.