November 7, 2018 | Fiction
A Good And Simple Life
Oliver Zarandi
The Boy was born poor and continued to be poor.
The Boy was born poor and continued to be poor.
We agreed to meet in a bar known as the ‘anus of the city.’ It had terrible lighting which obscured its ugly regulars. The regulars had heads like onions with names like Fred, Harry, Deborah, Henrietta. Years of drinking had withered their necks to the size of cocktail sticks and I didn’t pity them because I liked hating them.