how to burn your house just before christmas

I walked to my neighbor’s house to chat. She was frantically baking cupcakes and rocky road brownies for the other neighbors around the block.

me: Why are you making so much?

her: I feel guilty. The Venezuelans next door dropped off cookies last night.

me: We have Venezuelan neighbors?! I didn’t get any cookies!

her: Maybe because you don’t have kids.

me: Yeah, maybe.

her: You want a drink?


me: Shit, I haven’t eaten anything today. I’ll fry a hotdog. (then looked at shoes online)


My eyes are hurting. Clouded vision. Coughing. My kitchen’s turned all sepia.

The hotdog is black.

 Panic? No. Not when you’re drunk. Opened the doors and windows, s-l-o-w-l-y.

And stared at the Venezuelans across the street (tears running down my cheeks from all the smoke), and still very much perplexed, how come  I didn’t get any Christmas cookies?


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