After years of unsuccessful baiting, someone finally washed up in the man trap. At first it appeared as if he wanted to be caught as he kept saying things to the cantilever like,
“I always keep 4 to 6 grand on me in case of emergency” and “I need to be home early to take my mother to church.” When I brought him back to the apartment he removed his underwear and left them by the sink in the kitchen. He complained he was warm around his middle, so I stood him in front of the air conditioner in an attempt to quell his shaking. I told him he should probably sleep without a blanket, but this is not common in his native habitat so he ended up covered by morning. After a few days in the house playing skipbo and mixing crude amounts of soda and rum, I decided we were ready for some more sophisticated entertainment. I took him down to Martin’s Corner Bar where we got a table in the back. He watched the Cubs pitch to the Astros, and I played with the lock on my wallet. The bar tender was reluctant to open a tab for us, but I assured him we were good for it, that we were not going to be a problem.
Sarah Carson holds an MFA in Creative Writing from National University in La Jolla, California earlier this year and is an editor at Chicago-based Rhino. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poet Lore, Barrow Street, Diagram, Limestone, and Strange Machine, among others.