FOREWORD: I submitted this piece to a submission call, but it got rejected, so here it is. My blog needed updates anyway.
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Sol was poring over the building plans when the front door flung open. He traced his fingers along floor 48.
“Babe, close the door,” Sol said. “The smog’s getting in.” When no reply came, he looked up to find a tear-stricken Jenn.
“What’s wrong?”
“They did it,” she said between sobs. “They s-stuck me like a pig.”
“What?”
Shit I don’t think I can make this move.
Looks like a scary drop if I don’t stick this.
Am I tied in properly?
Why am I doing this again?
Not limited to one thought per climb, I often find myself second-guessing my intent of trusting my life with a pulley the width of my pinky. Not to mention the tedious work involved in building the strength and technique needed to finish a route. But completing a project I’ve been working on makes it all worth it in the end.
Finally, I’ve gotten around to continuing this personal recount. Read part one here.
***
The phone rang, and I would sooner chew on broken glass than pick up the call. Cindy rarely called anymore, so when her name registered on the screen, I was sure that having a serious talk would be an understatement. I answered the phone.
“What the fuck, is that bitch, doing sitting on your lap.” It wasn’t a question. Also, there’s something about broken sentences that amplifies the perception of anger, especially when coupled with a seething calm.
“What lap? What are you talking about? We’re just friends!” I said in a tone somewhere between a comforting snigger and a cry for help.
“Don’t lie to me. And what the fuck, are you doing, hugging her.”
“Okay, fine. Fine. Babe, we need to talk.”
This has begun to be my definition of a wild weekend
An out-of date blog reeks wretchedness. It’s that feeling you get when you peer into them dingy ‘cybercafes’ with computers that are actually gambling machines—and while we’re on that subject, I wonder why they don’t just straight up break out the blackjack tables, because that shit ain’t fooling anyone.
Photo credit: Keith Page
The other day, I attended a writer’s briefing for an online news site. “People’s attention spans are getting shorter,” the editor said. “You need to constantly provide them with links and pictures so as not to lose them.”
Your Friendly Malaysian Writer 