Short story: MOST OF MY FRIENDS ARE TWO-THIRDS WATER by Kelly Link
Read by Lex Wilson
Reproduced under a Creative Commons Attirbution-Noncommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 license
I have been living in my father’s garage for a year and a half. My bed is surrounded by boxes of Christmas tree ornaments (his) and boxes of college textbooks (mine). We are pretending that I am writing a novel. I don’t pay rent. The novel will be dedicated to him. So far, I’ve finished the dedication page and the first three chapters. Really, what I do is sleep late, until he goes to work, and then I walk three miles downtown to the dollar movie theater that used to be a porn theater, the used bookstore where I stand and read trashy romance novels in the aisle. Sometimes I go to the coffeehouse where, in a few months, I am supposed to give a reading. The owner is a friend of my father’s and gives me coffee. I sit in the window and write letters. I go home, I fix dinner for my father, and then sometimes I write. Sometimes I watch TV. Sometimes I go out again. I go to bars and play pool with men that I couldn’t possibly bring home to my father. Sometimes I bring them back to his garage instead. I lure them home with promises of free underwear.
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