“So how do we get their attention?” said Eduardo.

“I’m not sure,” said Darrius. “We tacked up fliers at the university, and I told everyone in my creative writing class. You did, too—right?”

“I did.”

Eduardo and Darrius sat for some time in silence, passing a joint back and forth.

“Why do you think your parents named you Darrius?” Eduardo asked.

“My mom told me once,” Darrius said. “Mom and dad wanted something different, and they got out a book with a lot of names in it, and Darrius stuck out for some reason.”

“I see,” said Eduardo.

“Yeah. That’s the reason,” said Darrius.

 

Image CreditPhạm Da Shu (大 間 集)

Lance Watson's poetry operates on the intersection of space and time. Haha. Okay, that's bullshit. But what the fuck. Lance Watson writes poetry and other shit sometimes when he gets high, which is more often than probably most people should, but as I said, what the fuck. LOL. Have fun, folks. --Lance Watson

P.S. If you've never written about yourself in the third person, as though you were dead, you should try it sometime. Why? How the fuck would I know. It's fun.