Read Online Inappropriate Behavior: Stories by Murray Farish - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Murray Farish
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out. I think you just lost my vote.
Just take the flier, maâam, I say.
I donât want anything to do with your flier, and I donât want you people knocking on my door anymore, either, she says. Iâve had it with you. She either said that or How sad for you, I couldnât tell which. She walked away, her dry legs bone-clattering up Tenth, and got into a gold Valiant parked there on the street. I was sweating terribly.
So now Iâm back on the corner with my sign, and Allison is walking with her slut tramp whore roommate toward Bledsoe.Her light blond hair shines even in the thin September twilight. Her friend is a toad of blood.
Song for Jodie #161 (a ballad)
When you feel the terror of existence
I will comfort you like a child
When you feel awed by my insistence
Then Iâll know your blood is running wild
When you mewl just like my little kitten
Iâll know I have you
When you cryâââââââââââ
When I leaveâââââââââââ
Then Iâll know I have you
Clive is drunk. He sends me out for more Evan Williams bourbon. He distinctly remembers writing me a check for his half of the rent. He remembers where he was sitting when he wrote the check. Among Cliveâs magazines:
           ⢠   The New Yorker
           ⢠   The Nation
           ⢠   Screw
           ⢠   Southern Living
           ⢠   Guns & Ammo
           ⢠   Harperâs
           ⢠   Foreign Affairs
Clive tells me that in twenty years the world will run out of carbon dioxide. I got the wrong size bottle of Evan Williams bourbon and now I have to go get more. My feet hurt fromstanding on the corner all day with my sign. And because I either erred or perhaps willfully disobeyed his instructions and didnât get the right size bottle, I have to pay for the whole thing.
Or else heâll call my parents and tell them the truth about Allison.
Today in English class the teacher talked about John Donne. A poem called âThe Flea.â Itâs about how this girl should stop holding out on him, since heâs been bitten by a flea, and sheâs been bitten by the exact same flea, and inside that flea their blood is all mixed up, so why should she be so prissy about letting him have sex with her? Allison didnât seem impressed by the argument. Allison does not exist in a world of blood and fleas. The teacher returned another paper at the end of class. Again, I didnât hand one in so I donât get one back. I knew this one was due, but I was working, standing on the corner with my milk crate, holding the sign for the candidate. Last week, when I should have been working on my paper, I was holding my sign. Anytime, anywhere.
All my life needed was a sense of somewhere to go. The teacher has stopped asking why I havenât been coming to class.
Clive.
Clive distinctly remembers giving me a check for his half of the rent. Clive has no friends, no one ever visits Clive, no one ever calls Clive, Clive never goes anywhere or sees anyone. Clive refuses to let me look at any of his magazines, even though I pay the subscriptions on more than half of them. Although sometimes when Iâm in the bathroom, struggling with a movement,he slides a dirty picture from Screw or Leg Man or Oui under the door. Have fun, Clive says.
There was a rally for the candidate and my brother told me to come, first to hold my sign and act like I was just some person who came to the rally. Then he said, No, I have a better ideaâyou should come and pass out literature.
Just take the flier, maâam, I say.
I donât want anything to do with your flier, and I donât want you people knocking on my door anymore, either, she says. Iâve had it with you. She either said that or How sad for you, I couldnât tell which. She walked away, her dry legs bone-clattering up Tenth, and got into a gold Valiant parked there on the street. I was sweating terribly.
So now Iâm back on the corner with my sign, and Allison is walking with her slut tramp whore roommate toward Bledsoe.Her light blond hair shines even in the thin September twilight. Her friend is a toad of blood.
Song for Jodie #161 (a ballad)
When you feel the terror of existence
I will comfort you like a child
When you feel awed by my insistence
Then Iâll know your blood is running wild
When you mewl just like my little kitten
Iâll know I have you
When you cryâââââââââââ
When I leaveâââââââââââ
Then Iâll know I have you
Clive is drunk. He sends me out for more Evan Williams bourbon. He distinctly remembers writing me a check for his half of the rent. He remembers where he was sitting when he wrote the check. Among Cliveâs magazines:
           ⢠   The New Yorker
           ⢠   The Nation
           ⢠   Screw
           ⢠   Southern Living
           ⢠   Guns & Ammo
           ⢠   Harperâs
           ⢠   Foreign Affairs
Clive tells me that in twenty years the world will run out of carbon dioxide. I got the wrong size bottle of Evan Williams bourbon and now I have to go get more. My feet hurt fromstanding on the corner all day with my sign. And because I either erred or perhaps willfully disobeyed his instructions and didnât get the right size bottle, I have to pay for the whole thing.
Or else heâll call my parents and tell them the truth about Allison.
Today in English class the teacher talked about John Donne. A poem called âThe Flea.â Itâs about how this girl should stop holding out on him, since heâs been bitten by a flea, and sheâs been bitten by the exact same flea, and inside that flea their blood is all mixed up, so why should she be so prissy about letting him have sex with her? Allison didnât seem impressed by the argument. Allison does not exist in a world of blood and fleas. The teacher returned another paper at the end of class. Again, I didnât hand one in so I donât get one back. I knew this one was due, but I was working, standing on the corner with my milk crate, holding the sign for the candidate. Last week, when I should have been working on my paper, I was holding my sign. Anytime, anywhere.
All my life needed was a sense of somewhere to go. The teacher has stopped asking why I havenât been coming to class.
Clive.
Clive distinctly remembers giving me a check for his half of the rent. Clive has no friends, no one ever visits Clive, no one ever calls Clive, Clive never goes anywhere or sees anyone. Clive refuses to let me look at any of his magazines, even though I pay the subscriptions on more than half of them. Although sometimes when Iâm in the bathroom, struggling with a movement,he slides a dirty picture from Screw or Leg Man or Oui under the door. Have fun, Clive says.
There was a rally for the candidate and my brother told me to come, first to hold my sign and act like I was just some person who came to the rally. Then he said, No, I have a better ideaâyou should come and pass out literature.
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