EDGEBOI [1.2]

Chapter 2: “Prez”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story was solicited and accepted by the Paris Review in the summer of 2021; it was in layout when, right before it went to print, it got yanked. This was right around the time the alt lit nerds launched a slander campaign against me and bombarded my Goodreads with 1-star reviews (~50), without having read my book—it wasn’t out yet. No shade to the editors for getting scared, but that’s what happened.

It’s Chapter 2 of my novella, Edgeboi, written 2020-2021, then edited, since. Read chapter 1.

2.

April 2019

Off-day grinding at Reanimator, new coffee spot on 48th and Spruce the homie N put me on to.

Writing Fuccboi (2022), reading Dept. of Speculation (2014). The editor’s rec.

Transcribing this when I chanced upon it.

Imaging studies have found that the pain involved in romantic breakups is not just emotional. Similar areas to the ones that process physical assault light up in the brains of the recently jilted.

Immediately wanting to text the editor this. Before remembering.

I no longer did that. No longer did thirsty reach-outs.

So texted N instead.

Wanting to tell him. To explain its implications.

That I wasn’t just being a big baby refusing to move on.

That my body was undergoing pain akin to physical assault.

~

N said Come thru.

Asked if I wanted to co-walk Prez, N’s roomie’s dog N was dog-sitting, when I pulled up.

I was enthusiastically about this. Said as much.

Lil Prez seemed to hear me, because he started doing a horse-neighing thing, rearing up on his back legs and sorta batting me on my legs with his front paws.

Needless to say, we hit the bowl one time before heading out.

~

Outdoor Prez was so damn funny.

I’d only ever seen Prez indoors.

Just spastically going this way, going that. Sniffing this, starting to pee on that. And then changing his mind and stopping.

Like Nope! That ain’t it!

Waiting for the perfect thing to pee on.