Contributor: Matt Micheli - - The cigarette smoke. The pile of dishes in the sink and atop the surrounding counters—stacks of them. The empty and half-empty beer bottles scattered throughout the house—I count one, two, three, four, and so on, until I lose count after thirty or so. The warm breeze from the outside sneaks through the tiny holes in the front screen door that probably should be closed but never is. I try and imagine the sound of small birds chirping outside, bathing in the morning’s golden sunlight, but I can’t. The TV’s volume is turned up as loud as it’ll go and is still muffled by the yelling, the crying, the words, “Fuck You” and “I’m gonna leave your ass,” and “You’re nothing but a whore,” and “Go ahead,” and “I dare you,” and “You won’t,” and “You don’t have the fucking balls,”—all the typical terms I’ve gotten used...

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Author: Matt Micheli