Every night I told him to aim for the toilet, but it was dark so he stood too far away and ended up pissing on the floor. It was always the middle of the night and he was always half asleep, so I didn't feel right turning my back to him in bed, pretending I cared more than I really did, so I snuggled up next to him with my tits pressed flat against his back. I waited until morning and took a clean shirt from his dresser drawer and used it to sop up his piss then set it out on top of his desk for him to wear to work. I always warned him first. It was never my fault.

That morning it was a baby blue button down polo with one pocket on the left side and he filled it with a roll of Tums, two black pens, and a hand full of butterscotch candies. He held it close to his face and smelled it, then sprayed it with cheap cologne and smelled it again before putting it on.

About the author:

Barry Graham is a simple man, who writes about simple things, very simply. His fiction has appeared most recently in Storyglossia and Insolent Rudder. His short story collection The National Virginity Pledge is forthcoming in Summer 08.