Griffonia
a story by René Houtrides
I was holding one of Benjamin’s socks. The vacuum attachment had choked while I was cleaning under the faded green sofa and, when I pulled the nozzle out, the curl of one sock hung—limp and trembling—from the hose opening. I was alone in my small apartment above the Chinese restaurant, with one dangling sock from the once-alive foot of my now-dead lover. The smell of egg rolls wafted in. The restaurant’s kitchen started up early. . . .
—Read the story here |