when the saints

She has Saint Sebastian's face

painted on the nail of her finger

illustrating the absence of a ring.

Did he never notice?

She taps distractedly on the

inverted wineglass resting

beside a plate where random

artisanal crumbs float in a pool

of pale green extra virgin oil.

He'd claimed that some degree

of aloneness was required

or we'd all be glued together.

Like the stray dogs we saw

in Cuernavaca? she had joked.

Yeah. because then you'd be

my bitch and you'd hate that

-except in bed, he'd leered.

Then he tried to prove it

on the floor of their hotel room.

And that was fine, sex was not

the problem. Sitting at this

restaurant for almost an hour

using a wine glass as a war drum

was the problem.

He could take his bullshit aphorisms

and shove 'em up his smug little…

….asshole, and suddenly as if

conjured by her frustration,

there he was out on the sidewalk,

his face framed by the "O"

in the window sign, his hands

pressed against the glass

like a thief busted on the street.

Grinning like the wolf who ate

Little Red Ridinghood's grandma.

He'd better have a real good story

or she would treat him to the arrows

that pierced the body of the saint

painted on her fingernail, not

the ones loosed by that chubby

flying baby emblazoned on a million

corny Valentine's Day cards.

He comes in with his sailor's

rolling walk, hands stuffed

in his pockets. hey Babe.

She snorts and shakes her wrist,

peers at the dial of her watch,
frowning as if surely it must be broken.

This is August isn't it?

We've been on Daylight Savings Time

for months, haven't we? Or do you

have some brilliant observation

on the arbitrariness of clocks?

uhmm, how about time flies

when you're having fun?

Do I look like I'm having fun?

No, not yet. But I'm here now,

so let's start having some.

What do you want to drink?

A double shot of drain cleaner.

Heyyy, come on now, I'm sorry.

I was working on a post for tomorrow

and I lost track of time. It's really going

to be a good one, Hit 'em where it hurts.

Yeah, you're pretty good at that,

a real virtuoso when it comes to

hitting where it hurts.

Ouch. I said I was sorry,

what do you want?

This is really important.

Oh of course it is, I know

how much democracy and

human rights are depending

on your blog. If you were to

show up here less than an hour late,

the casualties would be uncountable.

That's not fair. What should I do,

drop everything so that I can

get down here and suck down

chardonnay with you?

You know what? I'll tell you

what you can suck. Why don't you

get the fuck out of here and back

to your precious blog, the fate

of millions is depending on you.

Ok, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Get yourself a drink or two. Maybe

then you'll chill out. You know where

to find me, I'll be there all night

so when you get down off your

high horse, why don't you come

over and show me how creative

you can get making it up to me.

The promised arrows shot from her eyes,

he never saw them coming as they 

pierced his chest pinning him to the

reproduction mid-century modern chair

and she walked out into the rosy glow

of sunset on the twin spires

of Saints Peter and Paul's Cathedral.