by Peter Schwartz
When I was twelve I decided drinking cologne would be a good idea. See, it was the eighties and it was easy to feel shallow so one night I thought, my insides are what matter most, or something like that, and chugged a five ounce bottle of Old Spice. It tasted poisonous but even at that age I knew self-improvement always carried a price. Because it was well after midnight, I resisted waking up my parents. Alone in my bathroom I threw up many times, my only consolation thinking how disgusting the insides of my fellow classmates must smell. They were putrid animals and I was a civilized gentleman with delightfully fragrant organs.
Peter Schwartz has more styles than a Natal Midlands Dwarf Chameleon. He's been published in Arsenic Lobster, Epicenters, Media Cake, 5 Trope, Verdad, and VOX. He's currently working on his fourth chapbook, "Postcards to the Sun." See the extent of his shenanigans here.