by Soheil Sassani
The bread was moldy. I put it outside. Later in the day, the gardener took it.
I saw him take it. There was a sparkle in his eyes. He was happy to have bread.
I was ashamed of myself. You’re a pussy, I said to myself. You’re a coward.
It was true. I felt like a wounded dog for the rest of the day.
There was only one way to fix it.
Last night, there was a political debate. Rich, razor-shaved assholes were ripping each other’s throats.
Whoever bit harder got a louder applause. The audience made zombie groans all night.
At the end, the moderators requested the audience to finish their skinny lattes and head for the exits.
The candidates flossed their teeth and made their closing statements.
One of the moderators, a young blonde, was the kind that’d go home to a handsome
husband and a glass of wine. Last night, she had a full bottle.
By election day, she’ll be a sculptress.
I’ve been waiting for today for a week. I spent all my savings.
The gardener stood by the door, hat in hand, looking around.
I ran to the room and came back with an oak box. It contained the twenty-two year old scotch.
“This is for you,” I said.
He took the box and opened the lid.
We spent the rest of the day getting drunk on scotch.
Fiction and Non-Fiction
Budget Press Home