Home

They say home is where the heart is, but one wonders whether home is where the cat is, rather.

Poker

The thing about gambling with fate is that fate pretty much always wins, because he can see your cards. And on top of that, he cheats. That’s right – you think you can cheat fate? Fate’s got infinite aces up his sleeve and he looked at your cards when you went to the bathroom. Even if you manage to mess up the game a little he’s always going to win. That’s just how it goes.
“Your turn,” he said, fanning his face with his perfect hand and taking a draw of his cigarette. Fate’s got a great poker face. Seriously, I couldn’t even guess.
Then something surprised me. I played a royal flush. And that was that. A royal flush, a poker face and –
“So what now, Mr. Destiny?” I asked, nervously.
“You win.” Seriously, not a twitch. He could have been at a funeral.
“Like hell I do. You always win.” I picked up the cards, turned them over, waited for them to explode. Waited for the punch line.
“I guess you got…lucky?” And there it was. The smile. Fate smiles like a million dollars and like the barrel of a revolver both at once.

Nice dress

"I'm wearing a black dress," she says on the other end of some electromagnetic pulse. "You'll see me when you get here."

I get there, too. Barely. No cigarettes left and flat shoes destroying the arches of my feet, I'm convinced I smell like five hours of walking through this smog cloud city, half ready to collapse. The bouncer lets me in and I squeeze my way past a tightly packed and lubricated crowd of gay men, each one gyrating in his own way to the teeny bopper hits of the nineties pumping over their heads and in to their skin.

It's like a pile of mouse babies. I push through and slide out around the bathrooms at the back. A girl approaches but I'm too dazed to bother to look at her twice. And then I do, and it's none other than.

"Nice dress," I say, admiring her short blonde wig. She could be anyone she wants. She is.

We wander in to the bathrooms. She and the mirror are closely acquainted, and I sit on the counter with my back to it. I don't want to see - she can't stop looking. She has reason to look. The door opens and the previously muted beats and bass open up in to real music, it shuts and they're wrapped in a sound blanket again. My eyes peel open to the fluorescent bathroom lights. She caps her lipstick, open the doors and we disappear among the bodies. Or at least, I do.

Completing the triangle

My sister opens the door and looks at me. I put down my book for a moment, rub the green velvet of the armchair with the palm of my hand and look over to the rug. The cat looks at me. He preens himself, rather spontaneously. He never knows when the urge to lick will strike. Then he looks up, at my sister, who still stands at the door, and has been looking at him.

"Yes!" she yells, jumping up and down, her curls bouncing in the light from the window behind me. "Yes! Finally! We complete the look triangle!"

The cat curls up and goes to sleep. I start reading again. The curtains listen to the sounds of cars passing erratically on a Sunday afternoon.

I no longer believe in meaningless distinctions like 'fiction' and 'non-fiction'

Some facts about the author. Facts are true for a given value of true.

When I scratch my feet, my inner thighs twitch. I have eaten kangaroo. I have a birthmark on my third toe on my right foot. I can dance the salsa. When I was very young, scientists studied me. My favourite animal is a giant three-toed sloth (any animal that grows moss on it from sheer laziness is wonderful). I can speak two languages. I was once somebody's muse. I am blonde, tall and DD. I enjoy pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. I can roll my tongue and do vulcan fingers. I no longer believe in meaningless distinctions like 'fiction' and 'non-fiction'. I am the one chance you let slip through your fingers, your estranged mother, your family history and your childhood crush. Nice to meet you. I'm Flip.