Drug Store Girl – by SIMON PINKERTON

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Drug Store Girl



Pre-emptive infidelity.

I can already see her getting nailed in the bathroom,

Some close-haired, stubby-fingered delivery driver that asked for a key

and delivered me an anticipated blow.


Pre-mortem on our affair

and my gut says she finds me boring

Within a month.

My ascetic’s brain knows it, that I won’t be

Fun or free enough, with anything.


I’m not her dad.

Pre-pubescent yelling, sympathetic-browed screaming in my face.

Why? We have nothing in common.

My X and Y is gen X, her Xs Y.

She thought I would take her away

and put her where exactly?

There’s nowhere she would fit.


But here I am, looking at her,

Next to the plastic toys and the honeycomb smell

of the bumper-size bags of candy.

Here I am, in a suit and in a purple patch

For reasons I can’t fathom.

And she’s looking at me, looking amazing,

Languidly chewing that gum,

That must have drained to saliva and stomach acid

a long while ago, but it’s so alluring

That I think fuck it.

Let’s pretend it’s a good idea.



Simon Pinkerton’s first love was a late 80s Cindy Crawford Calendar. He writes humor and fiction at coolio places such as Word Riot, Razed and McSweeney’s, and if you’ve got a few minutes you can find links to his published stuff on his blog, www.simonpinkerton.tumblr.com . Please tweet at him @simonpinkerton

 *Featured photo courtesy of frequent contributor, C.C. O’Hanlon*


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