Sebastian Malloy – Page 7

Every Cat’s Got a Bit of an Asshole in Him

A Flock of Dinosaurs

The low this morning is 14 degrees. With the wind factored in, it’s a chilly 4 degrees outside when I bundle up and go to care for the chickens at the far south end of our property. We’ve had at least a foot and a half of snow in the...

Old School

Dear Rivi: I have been thinking a lot recently about how much more enjoyable the Internet was back in the old days. I know, I know: hardly an original observation. Still, it’s been very much on my mind. Remember when it took five minutes to download a photo? On dial-up?...

Election Night, Anxiety Night

Dear Rivi: And here we are again, teetering on the edge, like we did in 2020, and in 2016, and I’ll tell you something: I am over all of this bullshit. How dare Americans be so shitty. So racist. So fascist. It’s both sickening and disheartening, while at the same...

Every Cat’s Got a Bit of an Asshole in Him

The library in Winchester is open four days a week, and today is one of those days. We have come to escape the heat, and because we haven’t had the chance to visit the library yet, which is a crime in a civilized world. The building is small, no larger...

Popeye as a Role Model

We are out of butter and short on cream, so Hunter and I decide that a trip to the general store in town is in order. It’s too far to walk, but a half hour drive isn’t too bad, and there is still enough of the city people in us...

Things From the Archive

A Dead Man’s Gum

“So,” Viola says. “You know those carnival rides with the swings? The ones that spin and spin and raise up, and you’re going forty miles an hour in a stomach-churning circle that’s supposed to be fun, but really just make you want to vomit on everyone that’s standing down on...

Ghost From the Archives

Fist-Fighting Shatner on the Acropolis

Rivi and I are walking along Stow Lake in Golden Gate Park. As we go, she is counting the number of turtle heads she has seen breaking the surface of the water. “Three,” she says. “We should take a paddleboat,” I say. “Haven’t done that in a long time.” “Nah....

Ghost From the Archives

Alain Delon and la Dépression Française

It’s snowing as Rivi and I walk along the path beside the creek. She has been staying with us for a week, and has spent most of the time in the guest room with the door shut. Hibernating, she calls it. Hiding, I tell her. Either way, I’m glad that...

Ghost From the Archives

The Recent Past

The Subtle Persistence of Gravity

Tina sits on the floor of the hotel room, hair damp from the shower, dressed but in bare feet still. Our only plan is to take our cameras and go walking, and that is plan enough for now. “We should have got more pineapple,” she says. She has been eating slices of dried fruit from a plastic bag that we bought at a gas station halfway through our drive. “All this is doing is making me want to eat more of it.” “This is a town, you know,” I say. “I’m sure if we walk far enough, we’ll find a…

Unbearable Big Sur

There has been no point in getting out of bed today, so I haven’t bothered with it. Christopher left four days ago, with very little urging from me, and now I am wrapped in a blanket, listening to the empty sound of the apartment, trying not to think about what to do next. The key and Japanese coin rest on the nightstand. They are also things I am trying not to think about, but I am doing a poor job of it. I called in sick to work this morning, and with the holiday weekend, that means I’ve had five…

Cybersex Monday

“The best role Jude Law ever played was in A.I.,” Rivi says. “He played a walking sex doll,” I point out. “Exactly,” she says. “You need a boyfriend, Rivi.” “I need a Jude Law,” she says. She logs into her phone and calls up her browser. “Let’s see what Amazon’s got on sale…” “Keep the wheels of capitalism turning,” I say. “Just doing my part, darling.”

The Familiar Geographies of Wishful Thoughts

Tina’s apartment is old and ill-kept. The wind blows in through cracks beneath doors and windows, and bits of plaster occasionally fall from the ceiling. She has hung an old grey parachute from her bedroom walls to catch the falling pieces, and once a week she gathers the bits and tosses them from her window into the concrete patio that is her back yard. I have told her before that she needs to find a new place to live, but the rent is low, and she says she appreciates the feeling of decay that drifts through the air of the…

Rum + Molasses

There are four things inside the envelope: a small iron key, old-fashioned with pronounced teeth and a loop at the end, like it could be worn on a necklace; a Japanese coin, round with a square hole cut into its center, and kanji inscribed at compass points around the hole; a black plastic ballpoint pen, cheap and with a cap on its end; and a sheet of thick white paper, folded into thirds. The key, coin and pen I put onto the passenger’s seat, along with the envelope. The paper I unfold, and I begin to read the letter, written…

Aching Waves of the Lonely Tides

We are wedged into the purple chaise in the dark room, me on the bottom, Rivi more or less sitting nearly on my lap. The chaise is further being shared by a bottle of Chivas Regal, which takes turns being in either her hand or mine. We have no need of glasses tonight. Swigging from the bottle is good enough for this fine evening of low cheer. “My plan was to stop believing in love when I turned twenty-one,” Rivi says. She lifts the bottle and takes a drink. “That plan obviously turned out to be shit.” “You’re a romantic,”…

Refugee

The camera, the one Tina got on our trip to Concord the other day, is sitting on my kitchen table. She walked in the door with it ten minutes ago, and now she is drinking coffee, her bare feet propped on a chair, her hair mussed from the wind that was gusting outside my apartment before she came inside. It is barely dawn, and we haven’t turned on any lights. The dim glow from outside the kitchen windows tints us both blue, and I feel chilled by the air. “I want to go to the park today,” she says. “I…

Coffee, Toast and Ill Omens

I find parking along the houses on 45th Avenue, around the block from the coffee shop. The rain is still falling, pattering like pebbles against the roof of my car. I have Arthur’s umbrella in the seat next to me, but I am not rushing to go out into the storm. Are these second thoughts that I am having about meeting him inside the shop? Possibly. Also likely is that I am having regrets about everything that’s happened which led up to me being on the beach where Arthur saw me this afternoon. Regrets about Christopher. Regrets about coming to…