See now, remember that part about me being too poor to publish shit? Well, I’m still working on that whole publishing thing, but I figured a little sneak peek can’t hurt anyone, correct? Get a little early notoriety. I’m not a terrible writer.
“Your fly’s not zipped up,” Kevin looked down in panic, then smacked me in the ass with the side of his Topsider, the laces undone. He glared at me, all red-faced, then gave me this little pouty, nervous look. We stood smack in front of Melanie’s grave, the lovely minister (ministress?) beside us. I’d seen her around town before, just kept forgetting her name. Brunette, maybe in her thirties. She has kids if I remember right. Two.
“She didn’t skip out on me, did she?” Kevin asked worriedly, his voice low and tense. “She wouldn’t do that. Right? That wouldn’t make sense? Should I be worried?” I rolled my eyes. Drama queen. He starts biting his nail absently.
“Thea hasn’t started the music, moron. Everything’s fine. You’re leaving this graveyard married if I have to drag her out by her ankles.”
“But that’s how we get her back home anyways.” He reasoned.
“I am going to pretend I can’t hear you boys.” The ministress says not-so-quietly, sniggering. We agreed five days prior to pay her in smuggled beer and a free night at the local hotel, courtesy of Mikel and Dani. We were broke beyond broke in our early adulthood.
“You got it, ma’am.” We nodded. I heard the cadence start through my crappy $0.99 speakers twenty feet away, and Kevin perked up, his eyes wet.
“Here we go.” I whisper up at him, and he beams.
Housing In Purgatory- A Blog 