The little right hand Mason Anthony Scott at Amazon Tina waited for him to come by, 3 a.m. sharp everyday. Where was he going? It made no never mind to her, it was her daily 39 seconds of joy to watch him walk within view and then round the corner. Gone then for 24 hours, except on Sundays and Mondays. Them was the hard times for her, the lean hours of no meaty. She didn’t even know his name, she just called him meaty. He had bulges that popped from every angle, he looked like a man that was born that way. Then it came into view, that slight in perfection, that oddity in the diamond, the little right hand. It swung past his bulging hips, flipping in and out view with each stride. It revolted her, she wanted it to burn off or get caught in some industrial accident, a nub would have suited her, at least it would be shapely and interesting, making him look hard and interesting. Her courage to approach him was strong, she would jump in front of a car to save him, even pull him from a burning house, leaving crying kittens behind. She wanted to have him but the little right hand stopped her from even following from a safe distance, 39 seconds was all the time she could stomach of the little right hand, after that it became her focus. To get him she would have to get past the little right hand. she had to imagine it touching her hand, stroking her face and caressing her hips. Eating at the table and watching him scoop food into his mouth with that stumpy little appendage. She would starve to death because her appetite would be ruined with each meal. With her mind in high gear and want aching, she devised a plan to love him, little right hand and bulging bumps. What could be worse than the little right hand? What could make her spew worse than the that tiny appendage? Like a 9 volt to the tongue, a plan charges her brain. Tomorrow she would know what it meant to love no matter what. At 3a.m. on the hour he began his pass, the worse thing was already at hand or in her case at finger. She had dug the nose nugget out with her pinky finger so as to get a large parcel, she did not want to cheat her love. Its texture was crunchy on the outside with a squishy middle but the topper was the brown hair that sat atop the booger like a birthday candle. She timed out the devour with the sight of the little right hand, she wanted the psychology of her brain to recognize that this was indeed worse. She opened her mouth and her eyes, and places the green piece on the tip of her tongue as she looks at the hand. The bile swelled in her throat but she pushed back, slowly swallowing, watching the hand and finally in one big gulp lets it slide backwards. No spew! The fact that she could push back the vomit was proof that it was not enough to forget the little right hand. If it was ever to brush her wet pink, she would have to learn to suddenly think of something that could be worse and not let her stomach turn. The next day she sat by the window, 3 a.m., her giver Fluffy a Persian cat gave her a generous sample that morning. Sitting on a piece of plastic, warm and soft to the touch, it still had an acrid odor. Get ready, get set, go! At 3a.m. and 3 seconds she sank her toes into the fresh cat shit at the sight of the little right hand. The ooze slid between her toes and the smell raced not into her nose but straight to the back of her tongue, here it comes, she could feel it. The burning in her throat, watered her eyes but…. Fuck! That was as far as it went. Right at the gag reflex but no more! “Why?” she screamed. How far must she go to have him? What could possibly more vile than a booger, cat shit and a little right hand. That night she dreamed and awoke in a scream, that’s it that’s it! She had no trouble catching one, the old house she lived was full of them, hell they own the place more than her father did, she found a big one, and he would not let her down. 3 a.m. and 3 seconds, she forced the roach to her nostril. His little legs tickled her nostril lining; frightened he ran about through nasal membrane and quickly found his way to her mouth. Oh shit, here comes the payoff, she felt in her mouth, the burning of the bile, the junks but, but motherfucker! That was it, just bits of junk but no great river of vomit, no pile lying on the floor in a great steaming mass. In her heart sudden ache poured over it, it felt tight and there was a squeezing that started in her gut, one that gave her double vision and no breath in her lungs. When she fell to the floor, her body shook and her head was pounding with heat but it happened, it finally happened! It came straight from her gut to her gullet, a projectile of a gamy smell of whatever she had for breakfast plus a frightened roach. It came to her, the worst thing that she could feel was losing him forever, even worse than the little right hand touching her face, was never knowing him closer. The worst thing was to never have loved at all. Never knowing his voice, his thoughts, his warmth, his life. Slipping on her right leg brace and then the left one she hurried downstairs to meet her prince, the man with the little right hand, bulging bumps and a voice that sounded like steam escaping from a pipe.

Anything but modern country.

The color purple and Its a wonderful life.

Einstein and Martin Luther King