The World Dirty, Like a Heart

Tull and I sat for a while. It was our spring break, noon on a Wednesday, and we were in my kitchen. My wife, Cass, was at work. She is a dental hygienist, works eight hours a day, and I wondered about the secret paths she might follow while we were apart, eight-to-four, Monday through Friday. I wondered what she would think about Tull and Leslie Surprise. I wondered if Cass had her own version of Leslie Surprise: someone younger than me or better looking or more articulate in his desires. I wondered if the world were split between between those who acted on their desires and those who did not, and if those who did not were at the absolute mercy of those who did. I wondered just how much I knew about the world. while I was wondering I drank my beer quickly, one, then another. Tull just watched his. It sat on the table and he looked at it as if it were rotating slowly and he was checking its progress. I thought I could see it move myself after a while. It was an extraordinary display, a household miracle so small you couldn’t be sure if it were actually happening or what it might mean. I drank that beer, too, and he watched me drink it, smiling. I was thinking. Tull was my friend and I was worried about him in the same way you worry about yourself, except with less attention to detail.

The World Dirty, Like a Heart by Brock Clark

From What We Won’t Do

Kevin Holtsberry
I work in communications and public affairs. I try to squeeze in as much reading as I can while still spending time with my wife and two kids (and cheering on the Pittsburgh Steelers and Michigan Wolverines during football season).

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