Outside the Art Cinema

by Anthony Kane Evans

The third time I saw her she had barbed wire in her hair; I went directly up to her and told her that I had come to sip love, that I was a pulp cultist and part-time, lo-fi punk. She didn’t understand my words but asked me if it was true what people said, that I chanted in the mornings and the ladybirds came to me in the afternoons. I wish I was more of a formula kind of guy, I said. She let this sink in then shook her head, the barbed wire rattling, she would like to put me to music by Shostakovich, she said. At that point I forced her hand: did she believe in the possibility of pure love? Looking down at my pointed black leather shoes she admitted to being guardedly pessimistic.

6S

Anthony Kane Evans hopes you like his six sentence thingamajig.