"Maggie, you're too eager," Nina always tells her.

"Play hard to get, and when that works, play harder." The mantra of the victim of a quarter life crisis.

She's lost in the rules, lessons from those who do life well.


The shit that spews from your mouth chokes. It sticks, like trying to swallow a million maggots. The leftovers of the flies swarming the death of your breath. Attracted by the beer that you breathe, that seeps from your pores, from hours of Blue Moon and sex.

That moment of death when you know the phone will never ring--that you gave it up just a little too soon.

Maggie tries to get her shit together. The cafe table isn't big enough to support the weight of the weekends mistakes. She fidgets with the turquoise ring on her index finger, "Power stone my ass."

She picks up her gun, modern warfare with unlimited messaging. She makes vows.

If he texts, I'll tell him it's over.

Maybe I'll just text him first and tell him it's been fun.

She thinks about letting him know that she's serious, You run too much game, it was fun while it lasted.

Nina sits across the table punching her laptop keys. She works so hard. She is on about something. Maggie stares are her through the indifference.

"If he calls..."

Casual, really. Someone always wants more. She slides the keypad into lock. It's best to have the safety on. Someone always gets hurt.