short stories

They met in an All Bar One. Office girls in push up bras. Nylon ties on seat backs. Carbonated comfort in pints and possibility on tap. C'mon let's race. It was Thursday night.

Rest in peace? I should be so lucky. To date I've had more failed suicide attempts than sexual conquests. Which in itself is reason enough to try again. I've tried every method ' from the high wire drama of bridge jumping to the anonymous leave-taking of pills. And every single try's been thwarted by friends or goddamn do-gooders. Understand. These are not cries for help. I am genuinely committed. Just monumentally unlucky.