July 14th, 2004

Road Warrior Diaries

Somehow, this has something to do with Istanbul

I killed a moth in my room last night. For an instant, all I could see were the sweaters that have been ruined and the hole I discovered in the leg of my suit pants, all of my things serving as dinner for a horde of hungry vermin. As I started getting creeped out by the thought of the thousands of eggs hatching into hungry little larvae, a wave of anger hit me. Just as I said, “No fucking way!” I crushed her with my thumb. Marty would have been proud of my smooshing prowess.

Only afterwards did I stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I had killed an innocent. I’m really not sure that she was a moth of the cloth-eating variety. She was completely white, with wings that formed a delicately curved chevron at their rest. In all honesty, she really was quite pretty. There’s nothing left except for this vague sense of regret for destroying something beautiful. I wonder if this is how the Turks felt after sacking Constantinople.

Passion can be a strange and unpredictable motivator.
Shoulda thought ahead

Notes from the W.C.

Dear Toilet Stall Guy:

I am very sorry that when I entered the bathroom I opened your stall. I'm also sorry that I briefly caught sight of your lily-white legs poking out from behind the sports pages. I know from the tone of your voice and the string of invectives you tossed after me that you were a little annoyed at the unexpected interruption of your "quiet time." Still, I’d like to point out that if you had taken a moment to lock the stall door before you dropped your pants, both of us would have been saved this little drama.

Your friend,
P.