You must have forgotten how many holes you have, those unguarded doors leading to dark wet places you can’t reach to itch if something sinister crawls up in there, while you sleep. That pesky stray eyelash you keep trying to flick away, rinse out, is not an eyelash after all. It’s me: that spider you barely missed, now decorating your eye socket with tiny eggs by the dozen, using your eyelid for a blanket and dangling out just one leg, to stay cool. I learned that trick from you. Just wait till I teach my children.
Mike Lavine is a lawyer, biker, and writer of fiction somewhere between horror and comedy. A native of Barbados who now lives in San Francisco, Mike spends his spare time eavesdropping on other people’s conversations for dialogue ideas as he walks to the office.