I wish I could pretend you make me try.

[Has this seen the light of day? Late 2005 / early 2006]

In a spacious apartment in a downtown warehouse, oxygen and hydrogen molecules flirted recklessly with a mahogany bookshelf. Eyeing the spines sitting ever-so-haughtily on the shelves, they weighed their options carefully: Achebe or Zola? Leather or paperback? Would their compatriots think less of them if they settled for pulp fictions? Such were the concerns of these particular molecules, and they continued this ritual daily, completely ignorant of the similar dilemma facing their brothers in arms a few rooms away, lusting for the fine Henckels in the kitchen.

The apartment was alive with a subdued sexuality on string theory scale; the cushions of the leather sofa flitted along the polished hardwood floor in a way Mozart could only hope for in the lyrical interplay of oboes in his requiem. The rooms more than flowed: they vibrated on a universal frequency set to affluence, distinction, and culture. If there was a situation in which the lifestyle could be portrayed in only two words upon risk of death, we'd be left with "well-manicured", in a tone of unshakable confidence that impresses captains of industry and cowboys in one fell swoop.

The apartment is a panther, waiting patiently in the shadows: sleek, glossed eyes, waiting for prey. A dangerously patient smile with the self-realization to know it is both an allegory and a metaphor.

Anyone who has laboriously ingested one of the undeservedly pretentious literary works of our time can tell you that, when it comes to metaphors, coincidental light is a beacon, calling lazy students of English literature searching in vain for another five hundred characters to finish an essay. This is a fact not lost on the shaft of morning light peaking through the oddly tasteful Venetian blinds too hung over to face dereliction of duty charges. Latchkey children of the sun played on the fresh carpet, read the assorted magazines on the coffee table, and marveled at the small, black piece of lacy cloth on the floor. This is new, they thought, pausing briefly to contemplate their host's uncharacteristic sloppiness.