Going to Malibu by Mark Anthony Carpenter
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"Joshua, that
is ridiculous. One of us needs to bring a phone. What if something happens?"
"They have payphones in Malibu." "I have a paper
due on Monday." "So, write it on Sunday." "Josh-" "Claire, do this with me." She hops down from the bed, and chooses a black t-shirt from the laundry basket next to her desk. "It's a bad weekend. I should probably start the paper now. Maybe next weekend?" She turns her back to me and puts the shirt on. "I can't imagine that would be any better," I say, hoping she can sense the agitation in my voice. "Josh, don't complicate this," she says, making a show of opening up her laptop. I get up off of the bed and put my own shirt on, then set about gathering the rest of my belongings from around the room. "You never answered my question about what tonight meant to you." Silence. Ten twenty thirty seconds. "Call me tomorrow, Josh." "I'm going to Malibu," I said and walked out the door. [end] |
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