Drabble as Therapy . . . Future Tense
So I was up in the middle of the night, contemplating the House finale, PMS, and the end of the world via SPN, and this came hurtling out through a very angsty Starsky, who can ruminate Hutch under a table if he really puts his mind to it. Which he did. This took forever. And it's still not right. Which, I think, is precisely Starsky's point . . .
Future Tense
It wasn’t always like this. Some days we’d roust a couple of knuckleheads, bang down a few doors, have lunch. Some nights we got home before the evening news. When the news didn’t know us. When pizza and beer always came with a fuck and a fuck never came with a pussy. But now beer tastes like rats and lunch is poisoned straight from the can. The pizza fucked up his needle and the needle almost fucked up his record. So now we play ping pong for dinner and hope to hell all we need is a new paint job.
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