Thursday, September 16, 2010


Here is what love is like: flowers. Flowers, love is like flowers because it dies, or maybe because it blossoms or because it is perennial, I mean I don't know. Just pick something, and love is like flowers, and also like lettuce, romaine lettuce, because it is hard to keep fresh and also it can leave a bad taste in the mouth and it is frequently green and served with too-salty dressing. Love is like hitting a baseball, because it is something that people think is ordinary but actually it is hard to do well. Love is like fine art, because it is often imitated but difficult to find the real thing, or it is framed and hung in a museum, what? Love is like the perfect huck, because people say it's not real but we've all seen it, once, or even twice, maybe, and because it takes practice and it is beautiful and it involves a lot of drive from the hips, more than you'd think. Love is like a nice pillow, comforting (of course), and soft, and sometimes a little cold. Love is like a pocket watch in that it seems pretty reliable but it is easy to lose, and love is like a mug of hot chocolate in that it is best when there is snow and the time is maybe 5:00,or 5:30. Love is like a rubik's cube because the goal is simple but the process is difficult and love is like aspirin because it makes stupid things hurt less, I don't know. I don't know. Love is like this: you don't know, I mean you don't know and you can't know. Love is like this: you want to summarize it but you know you can't, and I guess in that way love is like everything. Love is like similes because both are stupid and unnecessary and almost always inevitable. Love is not like anything. Love is not like anything.

Monday, September 06, 2010

Conversations after the End of the World

1 - Day - Main Street - 1

In the small, post-apocalyptic New England town, things are quiet. The air is red and dirty, the sun is too hot, nothing moves saves the occasional plastic bag blown by a tiny, hot breeze. All human life has been destroyed, with two exceptions. They are about to meet.


Enter GIRL, from the town's grocery store. She's pretty in the way everyone watching her wants her to be, and her clothes are as dirty as everything around her. Her hair is long and tied back. Her hands are small. She has an eco-friendly grocery bag slung over one shoulder and a shotgun held low in her opposite hand. She wanders across the street, sits down at a bench, and digs through her bag for an old-looking orange. She eats it.

As GIRL continues eating her orange, a low rumbling is heard in the distance. It grows louder. She hears it and puts away her orange.

2 - Day - Town - 2

Overhead shot. A white, beat-up Escalade is speeding into town towards main street.

3 - Day - Main Street - 3

The GIRL, still sitting on the bench, looks down the street towards the barreling SUV. As it passes her, the occupant inside its blacked-out windows must spy her - it screeches to a loud halt thirty yards down the road from her.

A beat.

The door of the Escalade opens, and BOY steps out. He's on the short side and has the kind of face so forgettable you'd probably end up asking his name four times. He stands next to the car and stares at GIRL, who stares right back.

Another beat, then he approaches her. He sits next to her on the bench.

Hey, I'm Lot, what's your name?


They sit awkwardly.

Where are you from?

New York.

City, or state?

New York state. Just outside of Albany.

Oh, really? My grandparents lived in Highland.

GIRL (vaguely)
Oh, cool.

Another pause.

So, yeah. How's the zombie uprising been treating you so far?

Okay, I guess. You?

Yeah, pretty okay. I mean like it's not quite what I expected, but I'm adjusting okay.

Yeah, yeah.

A beat.


Wednesday, September 01, 2010

The Nighttime Adventures of Huron and Victoria

Here is something, Huron says to Victoria, there is no scientific distinction between a lake and a pond. It is night time, and they are both sitting on the tire swing next to the lake or the pond or whatever. You probably know the scene: they're close but not touching, her hair looks nice, he is not wearing sneakers. What I mean is you could call the Great Lakes the Great Ponds, did you know that? You wouldn't be technically wrong.

In the dark, Huron looks close at Victoria's freckles and thinks about kissing her cheek but decides against it. I mean he's not even sure if this shit is a date, and, with the moon behind the clouds like it is, things can get a little tricky to distinguish.