Saturday, April 23, 2011

I want mine to be a cactus.

I will be very careful the next time I fall in love, she told herself. Also, she had made a promise to herself that she intended on keeping. She was never going to go out with another writer: no matter how charming, sensitive, inventive or fun they could be. They weren’t worth it in the long run. They were emotionally too expensive and the upkeep was complicated. They were like having a vacuum cleaner around the house that broke all the time and only Einstein could fix it.

She wanted her next lover to be a broom.

Cite Arrow Sombrero Fallout, by Richard Brautigan

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