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Friday Night Drive to Watertown

by Brad Rose

I’m wearing flammable clothing. Also wearing the inflammable clothing. You can’t be too careful. Although it’s not posted, I’m driving the exact speed limit. It must have snowed last night, because I just passed a house with a square snowman. Man, I tell you, those kids have problems. I hope they get some help. Soon. You know what I always say? Don’t stand on your own shoelaces. A calamity yes, but never a catastrophe. Yesterday, I bought a special, left-handed ballpoint pen. I thought it would help with this damned metric system. This morning, I drank some truth serum. I hate that stuff. It turns out, I have nyctophobia, but it’s not covered by my insurance. Wouldn’t you know it? Of course, now I want to deactivate my pet, but I have to read up on it, first. I take back everything I ever said about jellyfish. Last week, during my visit to Disney World, I threw out all my dirty laundry. Apparently, I had made other plans. I just don’t understand it, my outfit looked so beautiful on the mannequin. She was wearing plaid pants and had a short husband. It kind of blew my mind. I ask you, how was I supposed to conduct a successful interrogation, with such a dim bulb? Sometimes my mattress gets so nervous, I just can’t get any sleep. But it’s not like I meant to shoot out those car windows. Don’t be alarmed. I can explain everything.

Brad Rose was born and raised in southern California and lives in Boston. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee in fiction and a 2013 recipient of the Camroc Press Review’s Editor’s Favorite Poetry Award. Brad’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Cease, Cows; The Baltimore Review; San Pedro River ReviewOff the Coast; Third Wednesday; Boston Literary Magazine, and other publications. His chapbook of miniature fiction, Coyotes Circle the Party Store, can be read here.

Lead image: “butt-heads” (via Flickr user Lisa Ann Yount)