by Lauren Becker
He said he would call tomorrow, which is today and today he said he will call tomorrow. Though he liked me for eight hours yesterday, today's clock pities me. I was wrong to think he could not backpedal so soon. I am a dirty towel, used deodorant, stale bread, an abandoned pit bull, drugstore perfume, Styrofoam. I thought I had some time to hide behind my hair. When he held my hand, I forgot the last time I bought into a pretty scam, paying all I had for a vacation time share built on a swamp.
Lauren Becker works in public affairs in Oakland, California. Her work has appeared in Word Riot and DOGZPLOT, and will appear in mud luscious. She was tempted to make her bio longer than her story, but decided to behave like a grown-up.