The idea for this little story came to me the other night after I read Elizabeth Ellen’s poem in juked. The way I imagined the story then, I thought it might be a first-person narrative poem as well, and I remember thinking two or three cool lines in my head, but once I finally started to put the thing on paper, it morphed a bit. So, in homage to Fringes, here’s a working draft.
The Other Guy
Until he walks into the courtroom in shackles and that traffic-cone-colored jumpsuit you forget he had his eye half-knocked out of his head the night before.
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Ditto this little thing--I think it's about ready for the transom. I do hope you enjoyed it while it lasted.
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