Richard Chiem

Some of my favorite evenings are coming home from a long, grueling day of work and opening my apartment door, and taking off my earphones from my hair and realizing the stereo is already playing the same song I was listening to before, because she knows me so well, what the fuck is going on here, and she walks in. Already stoned and eating a cookie and half dressed. Mary holds me in this way in slowness like my limbs can reach out forever. Or as if I have supernatural powers to feel the earth moving around beneath me like a waltz and she says, I’m feeling really horny right how. She says. Or I mean right now.