Page 89 of Glass (Crank 2)

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crashing into your skull and vibrating

inside your brain. Imagine trying to hold

him against breasts hard as boulders

from all the milk left to ferment inside

and finally—blessedly—dry up completely,

leaving your boobs a whole cup size

smaller than before you got pregnant.

Imagine, when the idea of food

makes you want to retch, trying

to deal with mostly-digested

baby formula, big green glops,

smeared on a butt (even if it is a pretty

cute baby butt), all yours to clean.

Imagine trying to play This Little Piggy

when what you really want is to hook up

with a guy for a great night of smoking

and “touch me right there, please.”

Yeah, yeah, I know that—and exactly

that—is what got me into this predicament

to begin with. So no lectures. But hey,

if there’s a cute, available guy out there,

please, someone, please point him

in my direction.

The Garage Calls

My car is purring like a kitten

and wants to come home.

“So what’s the total?”

Fifteen hundred eighty

big ones. Will that be

cash, check, or charge?

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