Marcus Stewart

Birds? Chirping? Morning...so soon?

There was a slight thudding inside my head and I wondered, what the...? Oooh. I smiled as I remembered the night before....then my phone rang. And the thudding elevated. I scrambled to find my phone which is underneath the cushion.

"Marcus. Why you ain't text me back?!"

I held the phone several inches away from my face. But I'm being generous today. Today I'm in a good mood. Usually, once the nagging started, I'd place the phone on my pillow and leave the room for a while. One time she was on there for a whole 30 minutes before she realized that I wasn't on the other end listening!

"Steph, calm down. I got home really late and I passed out on my couch. You texted me at fucking four in the morning?!"

She sucked her teeth at me. SUCKED HER TEETH. Wow. I really don't have time for this. Why do I even bother with this girl? I feel horrible because she claims to love me and I only see her for one thing...that booty she carries so well. Now before you say that Marcus is an asshole, understand that I'm NOT an asshole. Girls like Stephanie put themselves in this position. I have told her countless times that I can't see us in a relationship. Yet she continues to show up at my door and call me at all hours of the night. Ok, so I'm not helping the situation by letting her in and putting it on her, but still!

"Well, we were supposed to hang out last night and you stood me up! I don't appreciate that! What's your problem?"

I sigh and yawn at the same time. She doesn't like this and hangs up. I sat up then proceed to the bathroom to run the shower, removing articles of clothing as I went. Heh. I like to walk around my apartment naked.

Stepping out of the shower, I hear my phone go off. Not even bothering to wrap a towel around myself, I walk over to see that Stephanie was calling me back and sent it straight to voice mail. I'll handle that later.

Zoe

As I touch the card, a vision comes to me, blinding my senses.

Two of clubs, I think, as I turn the card over, to see the two of clubs.

Not bad. I've written down my results, getting all of them right as usual. Now if only I could predict something useful. I turn over and sleep.

I wake up, hearing the buzz of my alarm clock. I glance at the clock. 7:59. Not agai—

—Before I can finish my thought, the alarm clock rings, for real. I shut it off.

I'm not crazy. But there's no way to tell if this is actually happening to me, or it's just my imagination.

Sighing, I put on some clothes, grab a quick breakfast, and rush out the doors of my apartment. At least I'll never be able to oversleep, as long as I set an alarm. That's about the most useful thing I can do with my stupid, useless talent.

I wolf down a waffle, throw some clothes on, and head out of the apartment. I don't make a conscious decision to skip classes, it just happens. Somehow, I end up at the foot of a brownstone, in the neighborhood where I grew up.

A man answers me, taller than the last time I saw him. Of course he is, I think, as he stares at me in shock. What was I expecting, after five years?

“Zoe?” he asks. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I step over the threshold, forcing my way into his foyer. I rest my chin on his head, proud that I still tower over him. He'll always be shorter than me.

“Hey Tiger,” I say. “It's been a while.”

Something About The Other (Kiki)

I need a new hobby. Fapping's just not cutting it anymore.

It's almost noon, and I haven't attempted to leave the bed yet. I have to pee; I've been convincing myself I don't have to pee.

Aw fuck it, I have to pee.

Flinging the covers back, the sunlight stabs me in the corneas, I'm practically doubled over by the shooting pain in my head. Jesus, you would think 16 hours is enough to knock out a migraine, apparently not.

Pee is satisfying. At least the bathroom is dark.

I pad down the narrow hall into my unimpressive living room slash kitchen and sit down at the breakfast bar. Part of me wishes that it was strewn with beer bottles, cigarette butts, something fro crying out loud- that would at least hint that I had some sort of soical life. I'm plunking down 1275 a month for this postage stamp becuase I saw the bar and immediately thought- parties. I'm gonna have shitloads of parties, every freaking night, just music and tits and abs and whatever else people sling in their pants these days.

I think the only person who's come over in eight months is my landlord. He checked the pipes in ten minutes flat and left without a word.

Whatever. I'm young. Ish.

My phone buzzes on the counter. I spring from my stool and make haste of the the yards from here to the sink. Snatch up the phone. It's a text.

THS, at The Fillmore? Sat. Sold out. Got an extra.

I text in response, Oh, you mean Irving Plaza? Cause that's what it is, you know.

Return, Oh sod off. Same difference.

Response, Save your british slang for someone who gives a wank. ;)

Return. Come off it, you're always wanking.

Response, Touche.

Reluctant defeat. Yeah, I'm in.

Return. I win.

I leave the phone alone in exchange for rummaging through my fridge looking for breakfast. Exactly how one rummages through an empty fridge, I am not quite sure, but damnit i've made it an art.