It's summer, so I've been to some gatherings. Parties. Dinners. My college roommate was in town. That meant drinks and food and tarot card readings. I can't tell you what was revealed. It's none of your business. I can say we were at a bar, and I saw a guy look good in a tank top, and now I want a tank top. It's not so much I think I'll look good in a tank top; it's I think I'll look amazing in a tank top. If you're feeling like a generous stranger, I take out the guesswork at TANK TOPS FOR CASEY HANNAN.
We're still car-free. Josh and I walk to the grocery store, which is nice. We saw a flattened black snake today. When I was a kid, there was a reptile zoo in Kentucky with all these venomous snakes. When I went, the guy who ran the zoo was milking a rattlesnake. The guy was missing parts of some of his fingers. He had a cobra out later. The cobra was flaring its hood, and the man was dancing around it with a stick. People were sitting in a circle like the cobra was a campfire. A few years later, there was bad flooding, and some of those snakes got out and were never found.
Another thing about walking is who cares?
One of the parties I went to last week was an actor party. The actors seemed really interested in my book, and so naturally I couldn't trust anything they said. They asked what I was working on, and I told them about my collection of short stories, and they said, "You don't hear that everyday!" Except I do hear that everyday.
There was food at the actor party, but not much eating. There was drinking and smoking, and that's why all the actors were skinny. The actors were cute, of course, and the cutest one peed in the bushes, but it was dark, and the bushes kept their secrets.
I have a secret, and you're the last to know it. My story, "Ghost Water," is the June web exclusive at American Short Fiction. There's also an interview and a picture of me looking serious. One of my eyes is larger than the other. I'm told this is common.