#solichor 01.

[quasyarchive]

@solichor​.

         ‘ hey, you-ever-see,-um. ’ he’s excited himself by cracking his wimpy conversational floodgates, so the first bunch of words come out with force. ‘ you know ‘who’s on first’? you ever get introduced to something like that too late and think if little-kid you had seen it you’d be funnier as an adult, maybe? i think i missed out. like, someone failed me. ’

[fringpin]

@solichor​, call.

         ‘ your husband. ’ there ought to be a question within, but gus’ tone falls along with the pieces into place. what had started as a friendly engagement has become the audible recognization of an accidental close knit—a series of ties that may as well be around his throat.

he collects himself. relocates his practiced charm. ‘ and he makes no mention of marrying a woman as lovely as yourself. ’ he smiles to lighten it further. ‘ it must take some reserve not to keep you in his wallet, mrs. causer. ’

[dennace]

@solichor, continued.

    dennis’ voice sounds tinny on the other end of the line, as if he’s ducked beneath a bridge just to spite her. ‘ what, ’ summer laughs, although not unkindly. ‘ – are you offering? ’ she doesn’t wait to hear his answer. she’s got a pretty good idea of what he’ll say. (or maybe she doesn’t! maybe he’d surprise her.) ‘ it’s fine, honey. i can just get a taxi. ’ 

         ‘ good, ’ he says, withdrawn like summer’s already off the line. ‘ good, i needed something to do. ’

dennis hangs up before she can question his meaning—or motive, bearing how few selfless acts make his daily docket—grabs himself a mixtape and a drink for the road, and makes his way out of town. by the time the range rover is hugging the right curb, dennis’ cassette has hit its rick astley pocket; he lets it blare as he pulls out his phone.

summer »  here summer »  don’t ask if I sped you know the goddamn answer