It was going on seven that evening when Kathy put the remainder of her
meager possessions in the back of her car. She hadn’t given Charlie any
details other than it was over and she was leaving. Charlie had remained on
the bed, his nakedness now seeming to her to be that of a gnarled gargoyle in
some fairy tale. Charlie, good ole’ functionally illiterate Charlie, had
stayed as predictable as ever, all the way up to the end.
“Aw c’mon,” his bleating tone irritated Kathy even more, “just one more
blow job for the road.”
Kathy looked across the room to the grotesque gnome laying on the
wrinkled sheets. She never realized that she had such a capacity for being
repulsed, and Charlie was truly repulsive with his little pig sticker flailing
about between his fingers.