You didn't hear the word "dismay" in many rap songs, he thought. Why was the publisher named 'Random House'--- was it because it was a house, by chance? He thought about his old girlfriend---she wasn't really 'old', it had just been a long, long time ago, when he and she had both been very young. Music, love, time: not in any particular chronological order. Like a piece of mail that would never arrive, he was traveling 4th class. Everyone, even Einstein, knew that two entities couldn't occupy the same space, simultaneously. Nevertheless, it was too late to stop now.
--Brad Rose was raised in southern California and lives in Boston. His poetry and fiction have appeared in Third Wednesday, Off the Coast, Imagination and Place, Tattoo Highway, Boston Literary Magazine, Monkeybicycle, SleetMagagazine.com, Six Sentences, Right Hand Pointing, Fiction at Work, Short Fast and Deadly, Nano Fiction and other publications. Links to his poetry and fiction can be found at: http://bradrosepoetry.