Theme: The Swindle
It’s always there after dinner. Right after any time I eat, in fact, and I don’t clear up after myself. I’ve been known to lose it. I mean lose it; pull the tablecloth off the table, over my head and start leaping waving my arms and knocking chairs, plates, glasses over. I’ve been barred from every cafe and restaurant in the city for it.

We tried everything. Hypnosis. Role-reversal (whereby I play the one clearing the plates and he/ she (I) sit there passively accepting the situation. Nothing works. I’ll stop, give them the eye. Then I’ll start yelling. Plates out windows. We once lived in a sixth floor apartment overlooking a high street. You can figure it out. Ketamine for God’s sake. All I got was a headache and involuntary drooling.

I can still see myself in that mirror, right eyelid twitching (left in the mirror) as I struggle to rinse the soap from my hands. I’ve already sent two messages. The phone is in shards on the tile floor. Behind me in the stall, a man grunts and emits a huge fart. I am more furious than at any other time in my life.