The History of Bass Players – excerpt

He kissed me in the middle of that wild undergrowth, dry grass, avocado and lemon trees, and then after that every time he played I felt something anchor in my chest, the lower octave, his crazy hair obscuring the intensity I pretended to see in his eyes.


He’s so new that kissing him feels like a relapse.

Low Tide in D Minor

That love is still there, moving through amygdala to hypothalamus, tangled in my hair, sticky on my thighs.

The Wait

Debbie was tall and skinny, with dirty blonde hair and a scarred face. She had a black eye that she had unsuccessfully tried to hide with makeup. Her voice was raspy.


I feel rubbed raw lately, nerve endings exposed and torn.  It’s the kind of pain that makes me avoid the newspaper and television.  When I’m tired I remember what worked: the dope, the drinks, the hospital. “How’s your spiritual fitness?”  She asks.  And, “Go to a meeting.  Help someone.”  I will.  I trust her.  I…


I could take you like a pill, exceed the recommended dosage, keep going until I’m on the floor and need my stomach pumped to get you completely out of me.  I come home with a sore throat and a burnt taste on my tongue, resolve replacing anxiety. Then I miss you and need you, and…


Jake drove me into the desert to fuck me.  I’m not sure why.  I would have fucked him anywhere.  But we were talking, and somehow it came up that I liked the desert.  We had been flirting at school and at the bar for a few weeks.  He had broken up with Miranda, this tiny…

Longest dream ever.

I tried to work it out “Inception”-style, but when I woke up, you were still dead.