Two shadows were arm-wrestling in the corner. I entered the room under the pretense of trying to find what was lost. I grew up in this place, when it had ugly shag carpeting and a certain texture to the wallpaper. My mother was the adversary of fashion then, and she purchased a closetful of leisure suits to have me sustain the legacy. Spirits spat at the choices made, the colors, the patterns, the absolute wrongness of the combinations. Others in the same situation would have invented Garanimals or the like, but all I could do was wear the gray polyester and try to remain far from any open flames. Life was a myopic journey of sad reproach, and I fell in love with the white-trash tragedy of our starter home. The local billboard became my ancient Egyptian obelisk, but instead of answers, all I got was the toll-free number of a mystical chiropodist, which I promptly memorized like a mantra.

Bio: Gary Glauber