The One Page Book

(or a Favini Sandwich with Stanton Bread)

Introduction by TKS

I might even be a fucking rock star.

I

We are in a fighting war now, amigo. The banshees are closing in and the generals are wearing cowboy hats. The smoke from the gun barrels move like a beautiful woman slowly walking away from you. You have to come down and see this. See this now before peace breaks out and there's nothing to talk about anymore, at least nothing worth telling your grand kids. You need to make them believe there's things in this world worth fighting for.

I haven't picked my target yet. The sights are off. They are convinced there isn't an enemy around. But the men are anxious and crave blood since the absinthe is drained. There is nothing I can say. There is nothing I can say. Their minds have deviated from their intentions.

II

This apartment looks like a god damned ski lodge. Seriously, girl, what are you paying for this place? I live in a banana crate off twelfth street. I can take a piss without having to leave the water running. I keep the stove on unattended. But I get by. Least I've got a roof to keep the bad out. The shit in the sky these days, you wouldn't believe. It's rough, babe, but I'll manage. Always have. Just last weekend, I staved off the god damn red army. So how about it, babe? Let me hang my hat and explore your parapets.

III

The church bells rang four times in succession. The sun was trying to hide its face somewhere behind the trees. Heat was low and sweet. The Pastor opened up the doors, then he opened up his lungs. The glow behind the trees found his neck and wrapped around it. His eyes closed slowly as he descended down the steps. His jacket briefly dances with the breeze. Such a horrible day to pass away. No one deserves to miss this.

Afterward by Joe Favini

I miss the days when you could eat a Wonder Bread sandwich and be full. It's such small bread.