Ficlets

9:18 p.m.

I rolled my eyes. “Who was dumb enough to sleep with you and not use protection?”

“Maya. Maya, man!”

Maya was Daisy to Haynes’ Gatsby. He’d wanted to be with her ever since getting stuck with her in the elevator of their building, an urging that only intensified upon meeting her husband. Why she wanted to be with him was anyone’s guess, though marriage to a bartender moonlighting as a performance artist may have colored her outlook. The more I cautioned him about getting involved, the worse it became. And now this.

“Is she going to tell Mark about you, or make him believe that it’s his?”

“I think she already told him. There was lot of yelling coming from their place, so I left the building.”

“What if she does leave him? How exactly do you plan to support a woman and a child by being you?” Haynes had a real job – delivering flowers – but he excelled at doing nothing and occasionally selling Ecstasy.

“That’s where you come in!” he said, jovially slapping my shoulder. Tonight was about to suck.

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