Medicine

Miles Klee



Senator D—— testified that he wouldn't-couldn't run from his wrongdoing & bullshit & attendant fate but none of us in the business believed that now did we. Still, little pube only got the chance cause Ray be distracted popping the board straps. So whump goes the van door flying open, distinguished Senator D—— making like a banana and the two of us executechs just vacant stares with the all-prepped even drippy killshot in my hand. Fantastic cause now it's the terse two-word argument bout which pushover is gonna leave the climate control of our Mobile Mando Euth Facility to chase down this immoral twatburger in the swamp-ass humidity of D.C. in summer:

"You."

"You."

And since I'm more keen on staying employed of course I give up and heave myself out after America's Most Hated, out into the choking heat, the glow of perfect green & McMansions at noon, thinking Well now Ray owes you is all, you'll hit up the diner after, he'll laugh and offer to pay for your omelet, you'll say Thanks Friend in a goofy voice.





Miles Klee lives in Hell's Kitchen, New York City, and is perfectly willing to meet anyone at a bar of their choice. He is the author behind Hate The Future. His fiction will appear in the upcoming issues of Birkensnake and Polluto: The Anti-Pop Culture Journal. E-mail him for valid or dubious reasons at milesklee@gmail.com.