Creamy Bullets Read Online Free PDF Page A

fight, but I did.”
    “That’s really weird,” I said before realizing she may take that as a slight. “I mean, doesn’t he have a girlfriend or something?”
    “Some people like to fuck cripples,” she snorted. “I’m not interested in sex anymore. Or I should say that I am interested in sex, just not sex with penises.”
    “I understand,” I told her for some reason. I heard someone else yelling in the background where Sharon was. Again I imagined a group of slouching wheelchair drivers rolling aimlessly around her, one of them squawking about their medicine or a baseball game.
    “I guess I better go,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you remembered me. Sometimes I see your name somewhere and I remember that you weren’t as full of shit as some other people. Remember when you bought groceries for me?”
    I thought about it for a second and did remember. Maybe six years ago. She gave me a list over the phone. All frozen foods and toilet paper. I had to take them to her in her fifth floor apartment. It was a bland place with brown carpet in the hallways and clammy air full of TV-through-the-wall noises. Her dishes hadn’t been washed and I think she complained about me getting the wrong brand of ice cream. “I remember,” I said.
    “Okay. Talk to you later.” She hung up before I could say anything else. I suddenly felt dazed, and then, strangely, I thought of numerous other things I could have talked to her about. My family had started dinner without me. I held the phone away from my ear and let the dial tone hum freely.
    In my head, I saw a clear picture of the phone that was just on the other end. It was a plastic green one, hanging on the wall, push buttons nearly rubbed clean, a small crack splitting the bottom where someone once punched it. A sticker with emergency numbers, applied on the side, top left corner of it peeling away, ink smudged. A metal phone book holder coming out of the wall underneath, empty and cold.

Today’s Events
– DEFENSE –
    I’m at my son’s lacrosse practice. It’s on a big soccer field and the sun beats down. I’m watching from a distance, under a tree, in the shade. I didn’t bring a lawn chair, so I sit uncomfortably on the grass. The kids are grouped into teams and my son plays in one scrimmage, about thirty yards to my right. They wear helmets but no pads. My son stands in the middle of the field as the other kids race around him trying to cradle the orange ball. His holds his stick high in the air, like he’s waiting for a pass.
    I call him over after the other team scores a goal. I tell him to get more involved, to chase after the ball, play defense.
    He goes back and starts paying more attention. His defense is aggressive. He stick-checks a player for the other team and the ball bounces loose. The kid seems surprised, calls out to him, “This is just a friendly game!”
    After the practice, I wait in the shade as my son gets a drink of water. There is a crow nearby, standing alone. I look at him and say out loud, “Crow.” I stare at him for a while expecting something from him. I’m not sure what. Perhaps I want him to say, “Human.”
– SLURPEE –
    We go to 7-11 to get a money order and an after-practice Slurpee. I start to pull into a parking spot, but there is a truck with its driver’s door open. I wait for the person to notice but they’re too busy doing something. I want to honk but instead I move my car slightly to the left, barely fitting into the space. I look over and see that the woman in the truck is leaning over and looking for something in the glove box of the truck. Her knees are on the driver’s seat and she is wearing a short skirt. I can see almost her entire ass. It doesn’t look like she is wearing any underwear. I can’t tell how old she is. She could be sixteen or she could be forty. There is a yellow and blue bruise just below her left ass cheek. I look in the backseat and see my son playing his Gameboy, oblivious to