don't get me wrong, i like the girls up on the other side of the room, but i'm not going to fawn over him like a groupie. it's a little pathetic. Marty knows what i'm talking about - it's good to be here, but we're not just servile possessions, ya know. we got lives. but one sunny friday, he comes back with a bloodied bandage on his right hand. this time, i'm concerned.

what has he gotten into? he doesn't look livid... or guilty... but this is a bona fide attack. like what Goblin did to my right hand once. could he be back?
impossible.
maybe he was trying to punch his hand through a car door window to steal it, the punk. or he ticked off Bruce Banner. or he's one of the mutants! and he's ashamed and trying to hide his power! THAT's it. he's got cool little electro-spikes that grow on his hand when he gets mad, and he can shoot them out at will and stuff, but he was afraid someone would think he was a weirdo so he was cutting them off---
what?
hannah i'm sorry, he what?
oh. fell off his bike.

ahem.
nevermind.





Michael Costagliola
2008

Project Sitemap Cyberspace
Web Creative Nonfiction