The favorite thing in my life broke the other day. It had a beautiful buff arm that could rotate around the shoulder and beat up the bad guys. But it could also be my best friend. But then I dropped it and it landed on the sidewalk and a goddamn super scooter ridden by a serial overachiever ran over it. 

When I was my saddest I would sit in my room alone and rotate the arm around and around in a round as if it were jointless. But the arm is bent now. That’s how it’s broken. I can’t rotate the arm. 

But it still sits on my bedside table and listens with me while I’m quiet. 

Ok, we’ve got some absolute filthy flash fiction about bourbon and smut about horny fruit. Also, an ode to fathers and another ode to young men. Also, some other stuff, too. I don’t know. Fuck it. Thanks everyone!

Love,

– Ed